
Book.. 






Gopyiiglit^i 



^e.-s_ 






A Book of 
Plays 



By Witter Bynner / 

ij ^ 




NEW YORK 

ALFRED • A • KNOPF 

MCMXXII 



Tiger Copyright 1913 by Mitchell Kennerley: 1920 by Witter Bynner. 

The Little King Copyright 1914 by Mitchell Kennerley, 1920 by Witter Bynner. 

Iphigmla in Tauris Copyright 1915 by Mitchell Kennerley, 1920 by Witter Bynner. 

COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 
ALFRED A. KNOPF, Inc. v 






All rightt reserved under the International Copyright Act, Perfor- 
mances forbidden and right of performing any of these plays must be 
made to Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., ZZQ West Forty-Second Street, New 
York. 



MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

©C1A690933 ^ 



JAI\l-6?3 ' 



n-Vff 



Contents 

THE LITTLE KING, a play of the terror 7 
A NIGHT WIND, a play of Greenwich 

VILLAGE 79 

TIGER, a play of the tenderloin 103 

CYCLE, A play of war 147 

IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS, an English ver- 
sion from EURIPIDES 1 69 



Note 

Tiger and The Little King and the Choruses 
from Iphigenia appeared originally in The 
Forum — and Cycle in The Stratford Maga- 
zine. 

The translation of Iphigenia was made for 
Isadora Duncan. 



The Little King 



To Homer and Carlota Saint- 
Gaudens and their Little Boy 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/bookofplaysOObynn 



Time: The morning of October i6, 17QS. 

Scene: In the Temple at Paris: a room in 
which is imprisoned Louis XVII, the Boy-King 
of France, under the tutelage of Antoine Sim,on 
and his wife, Jeanne Marie. 

Behind a large iron-barred door at the back 
is an anteroom from which one staircase de- 
scends to the courtyard and another ascends to 
a platform on the roof of the Temple. A 
closed door leads at the left into a bedroom. 
Near it stands an elaborate bird-cage in which 
a wooden canary moves when wound up and 
whistles " The March of the King." In the 
cage are also some live canaries, one of which 
has a red ribbon round its neck. A small barred 
window at the right overlooks the courtyard. 
Under it are a box of mortar and some 
squared stones, one or two of which have al- 

7 



8 The Little King 

ready been set into the window. Nearby is a 
table, a cupboard of dishes and on the floor 
a basket of soiled linen. 

At rise of the curtain, Jeanne Marie, with 
a dish in her hand, stands by a larger table 
where three people have just finished a light 
meal. She is a squat woman of fifty with 
thick features and a blotched face. While she 
clears the table, she talks with Barelle, appar- 
ently a middle-aged stonemason, who is mix- 
ing mortar with his trowel near the window. 

Jeanne 

\^As she carries soiled dishes into the ante- 
room^ 

What? — Block the door and shut out all the 
light? 

Barelle 

The window first and afterward both doors. 
A grating left there for his meals, but not 
An aperture for light or hope or mercy. 

Jeanne 
Ah, but the fools have chosen you to do 
The jobl Luck's with us, Citizen Barelle. 



The Little King 



Barelle 

You mean God's with us. God himself, 

not they, 
Selected me, — to be His instrument. 

Jeanne 

There's damnable divinity in gold. 
You be the God. I'll be the instrument. 

Barelle 

^Removing from the window a cross-shaped 

iron bar^ 

O Father, prove Thy greatness to these 

people 
That have turned coward toward a little 

boy. 
Son of the King they killed I O Lord, reach 

down 
Thy hand to us ! For Jesus' sake, Thy Son, 
Give me Thy strength to save the Son of 

France I 

Jeanne 

[^Seizinff the iron har'\ 

Here's holy water for your crucifix. 

{She spits on it and throws it on the floor^ 



lo The Little King 

Barelle 

God pity you. — By noon I shall be back 
And I shall bring the boy. Does the King 
know ? 

Jeanne 

Leave that to me. You fetch the other King. 
And, please, the puppy-dog has learned his 

change 
Of name. Not King, not Louis any more ! 
Just call him Capet and he'll wag his tail 
With quite remarkable intelligence. 

Barelle 

How are you going to manage with Michel ? 

Jeanne 

Michel relieves the other guard at noon. 
As soon as he's alone he'll signal us. 

Barelle 

Your husband 



Jeanne 
I 
eave 
age; 



:anne 

Leave my husband to your God I 
Leave everything to God — except His Im- 



The Little King ii 

Soon as the coin comes round — leave that 

to me; 

And while we're talking — what about the 

coin? 

Barelle 

One payment now. The rest as we agreed. 

Jeanne 

God in three parts ! And one part now ! 
Come pay it I 

Barelle 

l^Taking from inside his blouse a hag of 
gold, which he hands to her^ 
And you at noon pay me my King! 
[Exit Barelle] 

Jeanne 

[To the bag of gold'\ 

Sweet God ! 
l^She kisses it, then hides it in her sewing- 
basket on the small table. Humming a snatch 
of the Marseillaise, she throws open the bed- 
room door and calls through it with her 
arms akimbo] 



12 The Little King 



Capet, your eyes are red. Go scrub your 

face. 
Make it all red like a washerlady's son. 

The King 

[y^ boy of nine, his voice heard outside^ 
I am a Queen's son! 

Jeanne 

Times have changed, my dear. 
And Marie Antoinette has handkerchiefs 
To wash, she cries so much. Her nose now 

looks 
Like anyone's and gets as red as mine. 

The King 
It is not red. 

Jeanne 

Go make yours red, Capet! 
For you're to be a washerlady's son 
This very day. — Sh-h! Don't you tell An- 

toine ! 
{She hears him on his way upstairs singing 
a revolutionary chant. She quickly closes the 



The Little King 13 

bedroom door and turns toward the ante- 
room where Antoine Simon enters. He is 
a big shoemaker of fifty-five, with straight 
black hair hanging long and a swarthy brut- 
ish face. He carries aloft two bottles of 
brandy^ 

Antoine 

I've brought two friends with me. 

Jeanne 

{^Seizing a corkscrew^ 

Off with their heads! 

Antoine 

Let go my friends! I bring 'em here like 

this 
And you — ^you murder 'em ! You used to be 
A stylish drinker, Jeanne Marie. But now 
You're an old soak. 

Jeanne 

Only a soak would talk 
Like that. I taste my glass the same as ever. 
It's you who booze like a lout and waste a 

lot 
On Capet, just to make the poor brat drunk. 



14 The Little King 

Antoine 

You're keen to see him caper round, yourself. 
But you don't pay your share. You get two- 
thirds 
As much as me for staying in this hole 
And you never spend a sou. 
\^He sits and changes his boots for slippers^ 

Jeanne 

{^Carrying dishes from table to cupboard^ 

The nation takes 
Good care of you, husband, — also of me: 
Six thousand livres your share, four thou- 
sand mine. 

Antoine 



A patriotic cobbler and his wife 
Cooped up like marquises ! 



Jeanne 

You make me sick, 
Talking like that about ten thousand livres. 
You don't know what you want, you lucky 
fool. 



The Little King 15 

Antoine 

Know what I want? I want to be let off 
From tutoring Capet. But let me off 
They won't. They've got me here. And 

here I stick 
And rot. It's bad for the brain, that's 

what it is. 
Capet's much luckier than we are, Jeanne, 
For he has us, he has, for company, 
But we have only him. 

{^The King, a handsome, gentle boy, appears 
at the bedroom door, Antoine hurls his boot 
at the Kingl 

Get out of here! 

{^The King looks calmly at them both, then 
returns into the bedroom. Jeanne Marie 
closes the door after him^ 

Jeanne 

[/« a superstitious whisper"} 
He looked at me as my boy Raymond did. 
He looked at me as my dead Raymond 
did. 



1 6 The Little King 

Antoine 

Forget your Raymond! Capet isn't Ray- 
mond. 

Jeanne 

You're sore because he waked you up last 
night. 

Antoine 

With his damn prayers! I fixed him good. 

He'll not 
Be trying Trappist tricks on me again. 

Jeanne 

Yes, fixed him good and maybe fixed your- 
self. 
Doused him with water, let him lie between 
The icy sheets and shiver all night long! 
What if he's caught his death? 

Antoine 

What did they say 
When I asked 'em, the Committee, about 
Capet, 



The Little King 17 

Whether they wanted me to poison him? 
They said, ' Well, don't you let him grow too 

much ! ' 
Wife dear, what did they mean? 

Jeanne 

They meant, ' Don't add 
A cubit to his stature, — cut him short, 
But not too short! ' They know their busi- 
ness best. 
Why do you suppose they send a mason 
here ? 

Antoine 

Barelle, you mean? 

Jeanne 

To seal that window up. 

Antoine 

Make bats of us? 

Jeanne 

No, not of us. Of him! 
They're going to block the door and lock 
him in. 



1 8 The Little King 

Antoine 

And lock us out? 

Jeanne 

We'll feed him through a hole 
Cut here and talk to him an hour a day. 

Antoine 
On what? 

Jeanne 

On Liberty. 

Antoine 

Woman, he'll live 
For years. 

Jeanne 

O no, my dove, he's delicate. 

Antoine 

But I've a mind to do for him today 
And end this job. 

Jeanne 

You're good at jokes on death. 



The Little King 19 

Our Lady Guillotine might yet arrange 
A joke on you. And, citizen, I fear 
You wouldn't laugh so well without your 
mouth. 

Antoine 

But I don't see who'd care about a Capet. 

Jeanne 

Because they had no use for Louis Capet? 

Because they say about the Austrian, 

" Why does she ask for cake, when there is 

dust 
To eat"? But people have soft hearts. 

They might 
Forgive the boy his dirty breed, Antoine. 
A child's a child, no matter from what stock. 
Besides France has her enemies abroad 
Who call the whelp a king. France has her 

game 
To play. And this one Louis — see? — this 

poor 
Thin undecipherable piece may be 
A lucky coin. I grasp it all so clearly. 
And I tell you, Antoine, clever as you are, 



20 The Little King 



When the Council General sent the Simons 

here, 
They put their trust as a matter of fact — 

in me. 

Antoine 

You put your trust in your four thousand 

livres 
All right, but drink your brandy on my pay, 
On the six thousand which they give to me 
For being less important than my wife. 

Jeanne 

A child's head looks ridiculous on a pike. 

Antoine 

No, it looks neat. 

Jeanne 

Hey, Antoine, listen! Drums. 

Antoine 

Some one they've got to guillotine, I guess. 

Jeanne 

The roof, the platform ! Call if you can see ! 



The Little King 21 

Antoine 

I'll bet you first it's Marie Antoinette. 

Jeanne 

An end of her? Not on your life, my dear! 
If it were women trying her, then yes. 
But this Tribunal? Men, Antoine? Not 
much! 

Antoine 

Justice decides and Justice is a female I 

Jeanne 

They'll feast for days upon those dainty eyes 
Before the garbage goes. If she's a beauty — 
I hope I'm not. 

Antoine 

You're not. 

Jeanne 

Trust her with men? 
She's got you, all of you, just where you're 

weak — 
She'd charm the hind leg off the Lamb o' 
God I 



22 The Little King 

Antoine 

Bet me the brandy on it? — the cost of the 
brandy ? 

Jeanne 

Double the cost! It's not the Widow Capet. 

Antoine 

\^At the window^ 

I'll ask Michel. He'll know. He's just 
come on. 

Jeanne 

O husband, how I wish the Guillotine 

Was near, where we could watch, to cheer 

us up! 
In seven weeks I haven't seen one head. 
{^Antoine goes upstairs through the ante- 
room. Jeanne Marie rapidly takes a piece 
of soiled linen and wrapping her bag of 
money tightly so that it shall not jingle, lays 
the bundle aside on the little table. Then 
she enters the anteroom and calls to her hus- 
band^ 
Who wins, Antoine? 



The Little King 23 

Antoine 
[^Outside'] 

I do! I win! 

Jeanne 

The Queen? 

Antoine 

I heard 'em shouting, " Death to Madam 

Veto!" 
At noon they'll split her like an angle worm ! 
Hustle him out. I've news for him. 

Jeanne 

No, no, 
Not yet — he's sick! And when his father 

croaked 
He wouldn't eat, was like to die himself. 
Go easy, Antoine, for he's off his feed. 
You don't know what might happen. This'U 

keep. 
You'll have the fun. I'll not sneak in ahead. 

Antoine 

The brandy, open it. No, pay me first ! 



24 The Little King 

[He opens a bottle. She reluctantly -pays 
him, taking the money from her stocking^ 
I tell you what we'll do. We'll make him 

drink. 
And then we'll make him dance, dance to the 

bells, 
The bells that ring when they lift up her 

head! 
That's one on you, old girl I Now fetch 

the brat. 
We'll celebrate. 

Jeanne 

[Opening the door^ 

Capet ! Aristocrat I 

Antoine 

What are you doing? Eating up those pears 
You took from lunch so's not to eat with us? 
Come out here! Join your betters! 

Jeanne 

Careful now! 
[The King enters from the bedroom. He 
has in his hands two pears, which he lays 
on a chair. Jeanne Marie intercepts An- 
toine'\ 



The Little King 25 

Come here, Capet, I want to tell you some- 
thing : 
A caller's coming — Citizen Barelle. 

The King 

You told me that. 



Antoine 

You like him, don't you? 



The King 




No. 




Antoine 




You do, you 


little liar. 


The King 




No, : 


[ don't. 


Antoine 




Why do you 


lie to me? 


The King 




I do 


not like him. 



26 The Little King 

Jeanne 

Have you forgotten that he brought you 

these? 
You like your birds, you ought to like him 
too. 

The King 

[After a pause"] 

But if I did, they would not let him come. 

Antoine 

Your tutor, Simon, never goes away. 
They let him come. 

Jeanne 

You're fond of him, ain't you? 

Antoine 

Come, answer us! You love me, don't you? 

The King 

Yes. 

Antoine 

You little liar! 

The King 

Why do you ask me then? 



The Little King 27 

Jeanne 

D'you like me, Capet? 

The King 

Where's my Mama-Queen? 
She isn't walking up there any more. 
I listen and I listen. Is she sick? 
Where have they taken her? 

Antoine 

Don't use that word! 

Jeanne 

Don't you say Queen! Your tutor doesn't 
like it. 

The King 

Where is she gone? 

Jeanne 

She's sick. 

The King 

I thought she was. 
O can't I go to her? Please can't I go 
To her? 



28 The Little King 

Jeanne 

Not much I 

The King 

Then can't I send her these? 
O can't I? Can't I send her my canaries? 

Jeanne 

You haven't heard that Citizen Barelle 
Will bring Robert, the washerwoman's boy, 
To stay a little while and play with you? 

The King 

Master, let me send her my canaries? 

Antoine 

Sit down. We're going to celebrate. Three 

glasses ! 
\^Jeanne Marie brings the glasses'\ 

The King 

1 do not care for one. 

Antoine 

Sit down, I say I 
Here's to the Guillotine I Pick up your 
glass. 



The Little King 29 

[^The King draws back] 
Do you want it down your neck? The Guil- 
lotine ! 
And my good-luck ! Come on now. 
\^Antoine and Jeanne Marie drink, then he 
makes the King drink^ 

The King 

What good-luck? 

Jeanne 

[With a moment of pity] 

It's better luck than you would understand. 

Antoine 

I won a bet, young man. I won that wine. 

Jeanne 

And it's a happy day in the Republic ! 

The King 

If it's a really happy day, I'm glad. 

Antoine 

Then drink to France! — Our Lady Guillo- 
tine 
Drinks blood today to France ! 



30 The Little King 



The King 

Who is it now? 

Jeanne 

{^Preventing Antoine from telling^ 

People you know who used to be at Court. 

Antoine 

There's no more Court. 

The King 

O dear, why do they kill 
Good people, — only good, kind people? 
Why? 

Antoine 

Dunno. They have a funny way with them. 
They'll take me next. 

The King 

They'll never take you, Master. 

Antoine 

Ain't you the little joker! Catch your ball! 
Why don't you hold your hands out, blun- 
derhead? 
Can't even learn to catch a ball ! We'll see 



The Little King 31 

If you can sing. You know! Your favorite I 
\^He sings, Jeanne Marie joining him] 
Madam Veto thought she could 
Make all Paris run with blood; 
But it didn't come off, 
Thanks to a cough — 
(Dance, dance the Carmagnole!) 
Thanks to a cough — 
Of the cannon! 
Put spirit in it, Capet. Now! Pipe up! 

The King 

" Madam Veto thought she " O no, no I 

I cannot sing that song. 

Antoine 

Why not? 

The King 

Because 
You mean my Mother. And it isn't true. 
She hasn't done them any harm. She loves 
Her people. Mother does. 

Antoine 

She loves her wolves, 



32 The Little King 

Her Austrians! Her people aren't the 
French. 

The King 

Her people are the French. She told me so. 

Antoine 

You going to sing? 

The King 

How can I sing it, Master? 
I cannot sing bad songs about my Mother. 

Antoine 

You sang it yesterday. 

The King 

Master, I didn't. 

Antoine 

Didn't he, Jeanne Mane? 

Jeanne 

Of course he did. 

The King 
I didn't. 



The Little King 33 

Antoine 

Little fool, you don't know what 
You do. Get drunk. Here, get a jag again 
And sing ! You're jolly when you're drunk. 
To France! 

The King 

O no, no, no ! — not if I sang that song ! 
What if my Mother heard me sing that 
song? 

Antoine 

She's heard you sing it I Sure she has ! It's 

done 
Her good, shown her how well I keep my 

word: 
* He shall receive a royal education; 
We shall instruct him to forget the past 
And only to remember he's a child 
Of the one and indivisible Republic' 
You sing your song. You won't? Then 

take this drink. 
The young wolf shuts his teeth. See, Jeanne 

Marie, 



34 The Little King 

What savage little teeth! He must be 

tamed. 
Where's there a knife to pry them open 

with ? 
We'll cure his pride. Now will you sing 

that song? 
Down on your knees I Learn this = 



Jeanne 

Let him alone. 

Antoine 

Obedience comes first in Simon's course. 

[^He forces the King to the floor] 

Open your mouth. Drink this. Well then, 

try this, 
Try this I 

Jeanne 

Antoine ! Give me that knife I 
\^She takes it from him] 

Antoine 

Get up. 
\^He roughly lifts the motionless King] 
Open your mouth and say you ask my pardon 



The Little King 35 

And we'll postpone the music-lesson. What? 
Won't talk? 

[^Jeanne Marie turns toward the anteroom, 
where Barelle enters, followed by Robert^ 
who, looking like the King in height, color 
and feature, brings a basket of clean clothes 
and a bouquet of roses tied with the tricolor. 
They see Antoine about to strike the King 
with the cross-shaped iron barj 

Barelle 

You dog! Is that good tutelage? 

Jeanne 

For insolence it is ! 

Antoine 

The little snob, 
I couldn't make him drink the health of 
France I 

The King 

(Grasping the glass) 

You lie! — To France! 

[As he holds the brandy high and then 

drinks, the bells ring out^ 



36 The Little King 

Jeanne 

The bells! 

Antoine 

She's dead! She's dead! 
The holiday! The Carmagnole! She's 
dead! 

The King 

What do you say? I'm dizzy. France is 
dead? 

Jeanne 

France that was crucified — has come to life ! 

Antoine 

The resurrection! Dance, my darling, 

dance ! 
l^They start singing the Marseillaise and 
take his hands^ 

The King 

No! — not to that tune! Wait and I will 

dance. 
[He breaks away and turns on the catch 
which sets the toy canary whistling^ 



The Little King 37 

I'll dance to my tune, mine! — -The March 

of the King! 
{^Jeanne Marie turns of the catcK] 

Barelle 

{^Interposing between Antoine's anger and 

the King^ 

Go slowly, Citizen, to cure a King. 

The lilies flourished for a thousand years. 

Uprooting them takes time. 

Jeanne 

Well, — time takes root. 

Barelle 

How are your birds, Capet? 

Antoine 

They sing, but he? — 
He has the pip! 

Barelle 

[Crossing to work at the window^ 

I left an officer 
Behind me on the stairs whose legs were 
weak 



38 The Little King 

With too much holiday. He's bound, he 

says, 
* To mourn the dead with Citizen Simon.' 

Jeanne 

[Handing Antoine the bottle and glasses^ 
Here 1 Comfort him I The platform's pleas- 

anter. 
[While Barelle jits a stone into the window, 
Jeanne Marie sees Antoine out and closes 
the heavy door after hint] 

The King 

[Politely to Jeanne Marie^ 
He doesn't understand about the window. 
You said that he was going to mend the 
window. 

Jeanne 

That's what he's doing. There were holes 
in it. 

Barelle 

Let's see which one is taller of you boys. 
[They measure hack to hacli] 



The Little King 39 

Robert 

We're just the same. 

The King 

Why, yes, we're just the same. 
{^Receiving from Robert the hunch of roses'\ 
Thank you, Robert. 

Robert 

I thought you'd like them. Look I 
Look underneath the roses, — ^look at this I 

The King 

My flower, my flower! 

Barelle 

A lily for the King. 
\^The King kisses the lily and hides it again 
under the roses^ 

The King 

Sir, you've been kind to me both times you've 

come. 
Last time you brought me my canary-birds. 
I have not anything to give to you 
But these two pears which I have saved from 

lunch. 



40 The Little King 

And, just because I am so poor, I beg 
That you will please me, sir, by taking one. 
And will you take the other one, Robert I 

Barelle 

I thank your Majesty. 

Jeanne 

Get up I Don't call 
Him that. It isn't done. You're right, 

they are 
As like as peas. Listen to me, Capet. 
Take off your things. Put on Robert's. 

The King 

What for? 

Jeanne 

[On guard near the hig door'] 
You're going to be Robert. Obey Barelle, 
Do everything he says. For, if you don't. 
They'll kick you, whip you and cut off your 
head. 

Barelle 

You'll come with me? 



The Little King 41 

The King 

I'll go with you and do 
Just what you tell me to. But afterwards 
They'll punish me. 

Barelle 

You do not understand. 
We are your friends. We come to free you, 
Sire. 

The King 

My Mother too? — my Mother? 

Barelle 

Where you go, 
The Queen shall follow you. Be sure of 
that. 

The King 

Then take me to her! That will make me 
sure. 

Barelle 

Robert, your coat! 

[Robert takes of his coat and waits by the 

bedroom door'} 



42 The Little King 

The King 

I think you are my friend. 

Jeanne 

[Showing and patting her bundle^ 
He's counted out the proof of it in cash. 
He's paid me money. Think of it, for you I — 
A little piece of rotten meat like you ! 

Barelle 

[To Jeanne Marie'\ 

You are the rotten meat I purchased I 

Jeanne 

Pooh! 
Don't wave your crest at me, old cockatoo ! 

The King 

You mean that you have had to pay for me ? 

Robert 

Come quick, for we must change our clothes, 
you know. 

The King 

[7*0 Robert, in the doorway^ 

Mother will look at me that funny way 



The Little King 43 

And not know which to do, to laugh or cry, 
And not do either — ^but just look at me. 
Doesn't your mother look at you like that? 

Robert 

Come, little King, and change our clothes. 

The King 

Mine does. 
[^He follows Robert into the bedroom^ 

Barelle 

You'll watch the door? 

Jeanne 

[^Opening the big door a crack^ 

The platform-stairway creaks. 
I always hear him coming. 

Barelle 

[^Looking through the window^ 
What? — ^Two guards? 

Jeanne 

We'll have to wait till Michel's there alone, 

Before you start. 

[She sits and sews listening by the big door'\ 



44 The Little King 

Barelle 

{^Setting another stone in place, watching^ 
I wish that you had told Antoine. 

Jeanne 

I'm no such fool. I know Antoine. 
He would have shilly-shallied half-a-year. 
Antoine's a coward. If I do the thing, 
Saving him all the pains and half the cash, 
He'll thank me when it's done. I know 
Antoine. 

Barelle 

He may come down. 

Jeanne 

Then let me manage him. 
Bottle him up again and think for him 
And act for him, — and put a sum away 
With which to make him love me by-and-by. 

Barelle 

How little you have learned from our mis- 
take! 
You care for him by caring for his money 



The Little King 45 

As we took care of you by keeping yours. — 
There would have been no need of blood 

and tears, 
If only my poor friends had counted well 
And learned the deadly peril of too much 
And dared to be contented with enough. 

Jeanne 

Enough is not enough and never will be. 
I tell you, Citizen, there's no such thing 
As coin enough. Look at the two of us ! — 
You've had too much and you philosophize. 
I've had too little and I kick up hell. 
But those who have enough — lie in their 

graves. 
Too much, too little — life! Enough — the 

end. 
\^The boys enter, each in the other's clothes. 
The King has Robert's liberty cap in his 
handj 

The King 

I have on everything. But not the cap I 

Jeanne 

Put that on too. No matter where you go. 



46 The Little King 

You'll never wear a crown In France again. 
Put that on too, my darling Citizen. 
\^The King still holds it in his hand/\ 

Barelle 

Run back again, if anyone should come, 
And change the jackets — that would do. 

Jeanne 

And then 
Come out again like you'd been playing ball. 
Here, Capet, take it, have it in your pocket. 
When Michel's by himself, Barelle, don't 

wait 
To talk. Just go. See, Capet, there's your 

load. 
I've lightened it, — so's not to strain your 

wings. 
{She sits and sews again by the big door. 
The King tries the weight of the basket, 
then lays it down and stands watching Rob- 
ert. Presently he takes Robert by the hand 
and leads him to the cage of canaries^ 

The King 
iSoftly^ 
I like the one you gave me best of all. 



The Little King 47 

My toy canary sings ' The March of the 

King' 
And the one you gave me tries to copy him. 

\^They sit on the floor by the cage'\ 

I've tied a little ribbon on his neck 

To tell him by. — I think he knows me, 

Robert. 
He lets me take him out of the cage and 

talk 
To him. And he turns his head and looks. 

And once 
He sang to me sitting right on my finger. 
O how I wish my Mama-Queen could see 

him! 
They wouldn't let me send him up to her. 
She's sick and ought to have all sorts of 

things 
To comfort her. — Perhaps they'll let me 

send 
My flowers to her. Wouldn't you like to 

have me? 
To comfort her, Robert, instead of me, 
Because she's sick, you know? 



48 The Little King 

Robert 

Yes, little King. 

The King 

I do not like to have you call me King. 
They might not let you play with me 

again. . . . 
And then besides it means my Father's dead. 

Robert 

The King is dead, — long live the Little 
King! 

The King 

The night he left he took me on his knee 
And held my hand and made me swear, 

Robert, 
That I'd forgive his people everything 
And not be harsh with them when I grow up. 
And don't you think that that was like Our 

Savior? 
Next day my Mother helped me pray for 

him; 
But when I tried to think of the good God, 
I couldn't think of anyone but Papa. 
Why did they kill him, Robert? 



I 



The Little King 49 

Robert 

Mother says 
Because their hearts are bronze. 

The King 

I told my Father, 
The day I lost Moufflet, my dog, the day 
We came to the Temple and the men stuck 

out 
Their tongues and knocked the statue down 

and called 
My Mother names, I told my Father then 
How bad they were. But he said, ' No, they 

weren't.' 
He said that they would understand him 

some day 
And find that we were just like them and ask 
Our pardon for the way they treated us. 
You ought to have seen how Mama looked 

at him ! 
And then she kissed him. Then she kissed 

me, too 
And cried, Robert, because I think she knew 
Better than Papa what was happening. 
There's nobody so wonderful as Mama. 



50 The Little King 

Why do they call her names and sing bad 

songs 
About her, when she's good? My Mother's 

good. 
She doesn't hate the people. 

Jeanne 

Shut your mouth, 
Capet, and pay attention! Watch Barellel 

Barelle 

He will not go, the man will never go ! — 
Hast Thou forgotten us? 

Jeanne 

Don't drag in God. 
Just wait and watch and, when the time 

comes, act. 
You'll learn some day there isn't any God. 
[They all wait a moment or two, silent^ 

The King 

{Whispering, close to Rohert'\ 
When I was little, Mama had her hair 
Away up high with a hundred waves in it. 
And on the waves were tiny ships, Robert ! 



The Little King 51 

O it was wonderful! She waked me up 
To let me see it. — And I had a sword. 

Jeanne 

l^Jumping to her feet'\ 

He's coming ! Quick, the both of you, get in 

there ! 
[^The hoys run into the bedroom. Jeanne 
Marie shuts them in, then sits again and 
sews. Barelle works at the window^ 

Antoine 
\^Entering~\ 
We want another bottle of that brandy. 

Jeanne 

Here, take it. Drink it up. To hell with 
Queens I 

Antoine 

What's the son of the she-wolf doing, hey? 
[To Barelle] 

I'm not supposed to take my eye off him. 
You know. Even asleep, one eye must be 
Propped up and watching him. A pretty job ! 
Where is he? 



52 The Little King 

Jeanne 

Here's your bottle. 

Antoine 

{^Brushing her aside and opening the door 
of the bedroom^ 

Come on out 
Of there ! 

{Stopping short, then turning savagely^ 
What's this, Barelle? 

Barelle 

What, Citizen? 

Antoine 

They're changing coats! — Barelle, what 
game is this? 

Jeanne 

If brandy makes a muddle in your brain 



Antoine 

Come out here, you two! 

{^The King enters, his coat in his hand^ 

Both of you ! 
\_Robert follows, cap on but carrying his 
coatj 



The Little King 53 

By God! 

What is this game you're playing? 

Robert 

Citizen 



The King 

We're playing ball. 

Antoine 

Show me the ball. 

The King 

[Finding it in the pocket of his coat"] 
It's here. 

Antoine 

[Knocking it out of the Kind's hand'\ 
Ball in a room that hasn't any light ! 
What were you changing clothes for? — tell 
me that! 

The King 

We changed our jackets. He didn't want 

to, Master. 
I made him play a game of masquerade. 



54 The Little King 

Antoine 

The hell you did ! 

IHe seizes the King by the throat^ 

Barelle 

Let him alone ! Hands off ! 

Antoine 

Not hands off ! Heads off ! And yours first, 
Barelle ! 

Jeanne 

Yours second, Antoine! 

Antoine 

Hold your dirty lip 1 
You're in on it ! 

Jeanne 

You lose your head like this 
To-day, you'll lose it good to-morrow. Fool ! 
What do you mean to do? 

Antoine 

Accuse Barelle. 

Jeanne 
And me? 



The Little King 55 

Antoine 

And you — and get ten thousand 
livres 
For taking care of Capet by myself I 

Jeanne 

Try it and see ! You send me to the scaffold, 
I'll just turn round and take you with me, 

dear. 
You broke the rules, left Capet with Ba- 

relle 
And kept the officer outside. Why that? — 
The reason was a hundred thousand livres! 

Antoine 

What's this? What hundred thousand? 

Jeanne 

\_Lifting her bundle from the table and 
letting it drop back clinking^ 
Use your ears. 

Barelle 

I've sixty thousand here in Paris, — ^yoursl 
This ringl The Prince of Conde's. Take 
him this, 



56 The Little King 

He'll pay the rest. Now, sir! your life is 

more 
To you than mine to me. I've got you there. 
But you can save yours, mine,— and earn, 

besides. 
Another hundred thousand livres. 

Jeanne 

That is — 
Besides my hundred thousand? 

Barelle 

Yes. 

Jeanne 

Good God! 

Barelle 

Nobody ever comes who knows the King. 

Jeanne 

And I'll fall sick and we can get away. 

Barelle 

With all the cash you need for all your lives. 



The Little King 57 

Jeanne 

Antoine, that means as much as ten whole 

years 
Of prison and the brat. Go on upstairs ! 

Antoine 

You should have let me in on this before. 

Jeanne 

Shut up with your ' before ' ! It's ' now.' 
Go on! 

That's all you've got to do. Go on up- 
stairs ! 

Antoine 

Well, I don't know. I guess I'd better do it. 

Jeanne 

Here I You're forgetting what you came to 

fetch. 
[^She hands him the second bottle of brandy^ 

Antoine 

[Brandishing it at Barellel 

I'd like to smash your head, you Royalist I 



58 The Little King 

Barelle 

God knows, my hand would like- 



Jeanne 

Quit quarrelling. 
I'll see if Michel's there alone. — He is I 
Go! Gol 

Barelle 

Give me your jacket! Quick, Robert! 
Come ! and be careful, O be careful, Sire I 

The King 

\_Js they put him into Robert's coat~\ 

My little birds, good-bye. Good-bye, Robert. 

My Mother-Queen will bless you when I tell 

her. — 
O shall I see green trees again and sky 
Spread out? — O think of it — the sky spread 

out! 

Robert 

And lots of birds I 

Barelle 

Good-bye, Robert. 



The Little King 59 

Robert 

Good-bye. 

Barelle 

You are a brave and darling boy, Robert. 

Robert 

Good-bye, good-bye. 

\_Barelle kisses him, then turns to the King'\ 

Barelle 

Be quiet now and follow. 
Be careful. 

The King 

I'll be careful. I know how. 

Robert 
Good-bye. 

Antoine 

shut your mouth I 

{With a sudden blow he knocks Robert to 
the floor^ 

The King 

{Standing stock stilt] 

1 cannot go. 



6o The Little King 

I had not thought of that. — I cannot go. 
You are too httle. 

Jeanne 

I '11 be here. I'll take 
His part. 

The King 

You can't, you can't, when Master — 

No I 

Antoine 

Go while the going's good. You're wasting 

time. 
\^An(oine lurches out and is heard calling^ 
I've found the brandy. Friend. She tried 
to hide it. 

The King 

O no, Robert 1 the people over there, 

If they should find me gone, would punish 

you 
And maybe kill you. 

Robert 
\^Risi?iff^ 

But they won't find out. 



The Little King 6i 

I'll turn my head away and I won't talk 
To them. 

The King 

He'll make you talk. He'll make 
you sing. 
And when he has you here alone, Rob- 
ert ! 

I had not thought of that. I cannot go. 

Barelle 

They'll soon find out who Robert is 



Jeanne 

What's this? 

Barelle 

They'll think that he was used against his 

will, 
Without his knowing, — and they'll let 
him go. 

The King 

Once you are here, they never let you go. 
O no, Robert, give me my coat, take yours I 
[He slips of Robert's coati 



62 The Little King 

Jeanne 

You little chump, keep on that coat I Behave 
Yourself ! You're stubborn as your mother. 

The King 

Ami? 

Robert 

Please, little King, please, please I 

Barelle 

Your Majesty I 

The King 

[Resisting Barelle' s attempts to put the coat 

back on him^ 

I will not go. You cannot make me go. 

Robert could never stand it as I can. 

A King can stand — O more than anyone I 

Jeanne 

Here, hold him. Citizen. Bring him your 
cap, 

Robert. Come now, Capet, behave your- 
self I 



The Little King 63 

The King 

{^Still resisting the coat, and throwing the cap 

down^ 

And then, besides, I've thought of some- 
thing else. 

You might save me and not my Mother- 
Queen. 

She might be left here all alone upstairs. 

Jeanne 

She's not upstairs, you little whining fool. 
They should have killed you too and saved us 

trouble. 
You with your mother, the whelp with the 

she-wolf ! 

Barelle 
O shame 1 

The King 

My Mother-Queen? 

Jeanne 

To-day at noon. 
You heard the bells, Capet, and drank her 
health ! 



64 The Little King 

Barelle 
Great God! 

Robert 

{^Taking the other hoy's hand^ 
Poor little King! 

The King 

It is not true. 
You wish to make me go. It is not true. 
If it were true, you would have told me then. 
I will not go and leave my Mother-Queen. 
I will not go. 

Jeanne 

Tell him it's true and get 
Him out of here. We haven't time to fool 
Away like this. 

Barelle 

[Tenderly, gravely"} 

Your Majesty, it's true. 

The King 

My Mama-Queen? 



The Little King 65 

Barelle 

Is with your father, Sire. 
She died to-day, as brave as she had lived. 
They would not let her say good-bye to you. 

Robert 

Poor little King I 

The King 
[PFith a sob] 

She isn't dead! no, no, 
She isn't dead. My Mama isn't dead. 

Barelle 

Be brave, your Majesty, as she was brave. 
A man on horseback told me what she said. 
She said : ' I was a Queen and you de- 
throned me. 
I was a wife and you have killed my husband. 
I was a mother and you tear my children 
Away from me. Only my blood is left. 
Make haste to shed it. And be satisfied.' 

The King 

O she was brave, my Mother, wasn't she ! 
I'm going to be like Mother. 



66 



The Little King 



Robert 



Little King! 



Barelle 

Then, don't you see, you owe it to your 

kingdom 
And to her memory to come with me? 
That will be brave, your Majesty. 

Jeanne 

Go on, 
Flatter him up I Perhaps he'll take to that. 
I never saw such people as these Capets. 

Barelle 

And you shall have your sword again and 

come 
Some day to punish murderers. 

The King 

O sir, 
I promised both my Father and my Mother 
Never to hurt the people. But I'm not 
Afraid of them. My Father said to me 
He could not run away from them and be 
A coward. That was why we all came back. 



The Little King 67 



And I should be ashamed to run away 

And not be like my Father and my Mother. 

Jeanne 

Shut up his talk I Get busy while there's 

time! 
Take him ! 

[Barelle and Jeanne Marie try a^gain to 
force Robert's jacket on the King, who strug- 
gles against them} 

The King 

No, you shall not. 

Barelle 

l^Passionately"} 

Your Majesty I 
l^They lead him into the anteroom, the King 
contesting every inch of the way} 

Barelle 

For God's sake I 

Jeanne 

Little fool I 

The King 

I will not go. 



The Little King 



Barelle 

If you betray us, it will be the end. 

The King 

won't you please obey me? Won't you 
please? — 

\^He breaks away. Barelle follows and lays 
hold of him again. But, with a sudden royal 
gesture, he checks Barelle in the centre of 
the room^ 

1 am the King of France. Obey me, sir, 
And take your hands away. 



Barelle 



God's will be done. 



Jeanne 

[ Trying to pass Barelle"] 
God's nothing! It's the antic of a child! 
\_Barelle holds Jeanne Marie hack while the 
King helps Robert into the washerboy's coat^ 

The King 

But O be sure, be sure you come again I 
The Simons will not dare to tell on you, 



The Little King 69 

For I should tell on them. Take all the 
clothes ! 

\^Picktng up Jeanne Marie's bundle from the 

table'l 

Take these as well, Robert. And look in- 
side 

And you will find a keepsake there from me. 

Jeanne 

Not on your life I 

The King 

You wish me then to tell? 
[Jeanne Marie stands hack glowering while 
he gives Robert the bundle. Then he takes 
the lily from his bouquet and hands it to 
Barelle~\ 
This hly is much better than the pear. 

Barelle 

I ask you, Sire, to let her keep the money. 
She would be kinder. 

The King 

Take them all, Robert. 
[Barelle bows and hides the lily in his 
breast^ 



70 The Little King 

Jeanne 

You little cur — you devil out of hell! 

\^H earing the stairs creak^ 

The officer! 

[Barelle crosses to the window and seals the 

next to the last opening^ 

Antoine 

\_Entering, at the big door, heavy with 
brandy, his finger on his lips^ 

He's on his way downstairs. 

Barelle 

It does not matter now. My work is done. 

Antoine 

{^Looking closely at Robert^ 
Your work is done, you say? What do you 
mean? 

Barelle 

All but one stone. 

Antoine 

One stone? 



The Little King 71 

The King 

Good-bye, my friends. 
\^Barelle kneels and kisses the King's hand. 
The King will not let Robert kneel, but puts 
an arm about him and kisses him on the 
lips. Robert goes out with the basket at the 
big door^ 

Barelle 

Surely you cannot punish him for this I 
What has he done but shown that tyranny 
May go by any name and wear red caps, — 
While loving comradeship may dwell in 

kings ! — 
Father, forget not he's a little boy 1 
{^Jeanne Marie hurries Barelle out and closes 
the door after him^ 

Jeanne 

He wouldn't go. 

Antoine 

You rotten little snake I 

Jeanne 

He gave the money back. He said he'd tell. 



72 The Little King 

The King 

You cannot buy and sell the King of France. 

Antoine 

But we can make him pay! 

\_He goes to the cage of canaries and starts 

to bring a chair down over it^ 

The King 

[/« the way~\ 

What are you doing? 

Antoine 

I'm smashing up your royal bird that pipes 
* The March of the King. ' 

The King 

But not the other birds I 
O not the one ! 

Antoine 

Which one? 

The King 

— that sings to us I 
The little one! The ribbon's on his neck! 



The Little King 73 

Antoine 

So that's your toy! — ^your kingdom in a 

cage I 
And orders, marks I We'll see! 

The King 

The ribbon's red!— 
He's my republican canary, Master! 

Antoine 

Favorite of the King, come out here, you! 
\^He thrusts his hand into the cage and takes 
out the bird^ 

The King 

O give him, give him to me ! 

Antoine 

There he is. 
\^He wrings the bird's neck and throws its 
dead body on the floor^ 

The King 

{^Kneeling and taking the bird up tenderly^ 
O listen to me, please, dear Heavenly 
Father ! 



74 The Little King 

Jeanne 

Don't mention God again! — ^There is no 
God. 

The King 

— Help me to be as brave as Mother was. 

Antoine 

Get up. Give that to me. Here, Jeanne 

Marie, 
\_Taking the bird from the King, he tosses 
it to her^ 

Cook it for supper. 

{^He jerks the King to his feet and points 
to the red cap on the floor^ 

Now pick up that cap! 

Jeanne 

And put it on again! 

\^The King faces them, not moving^ 

Antoine 

You dirty pup! 

Jeanne 

You put that on! — or else we'll punish you 



The LiTTtE King 75 

Worse than you've ever dreamed. The 

window's sealed, 
Capet. And now we'll seal this door, and 

this, 
And cut a little hole here in the middle. 
And then hand in your food to you and leave 

you. 
Alone in the dark, all day, all night, forever. 
You've heard the rats here in the walls? 

They'll all 
Come out, when you can't see them, and 

they'll eat 
Your food. And then they'll eat your fin- 
gers, Capet. 
And bugs and worms and snakes will come 

and wait 
For you to go to sleep. — Pick up that cap. 

Antoine 

Pick up that cap. 

l^The King moves toward it and quietly 
stands on it, facing them. Antoine crosses 
and sets the last stone in the window, darken- 
ing the stage so that only shadows are seen^ 

Jeanne 

{^Pointing, trying to laugh^ 



76 The Little King 

Behold the little King! 
\_Then they open the big door and close it 
behind them, and leave him standing in the 
darkness~\ 

CURTAIN 



A Night Wind 



To Edna St. Vincent Millay 



[Heard coming up the dark stairs, and 
pausing in the door at the hack, a young 
Poet enters The Pyramid, a dingy huddled 
half-lighted cofee-room in Greenwich Vil- 
lage. At the left, from behind a screen, 
which partly hides a stove and shelves 
cluttered with pots and pans, appears ear- 
ringed Egypt, draped in a brightly em- 
broidered shawl, an Alexandrian with 
deep quick eyes. She stands against the 
screen and nods to the poet, who crosses 
and sits near her on a bench beside one of 
the long low rough tables of smoky wood. 
He gazes at her, silent^ 

Egypt. 

[In a warm husky voice"] 
Why do you look? 

79 



8o A Night-Wind 

The Poet. 

Your eyes. 

Egypt. 

What do you find? 

The Poet. 

You have had secrets, Egypt. 

Egypt. 

So have you. 

The Poet. 

But I tell all mine. 

Egypt. 

O, what a foolish poet! 
You should almost tell them. People listen 

then, 
Hoping to hear the secret. If I told, 
Would anybody listen any more? 
Secrets are what they buy here with their 

coffee. 
Shadows of secrets. After all, my friend. 
Secrets themselves are not mysterious, 
Only their shadows. 



A Night-Wind 8i 

The Poet. 

Such as death, for instance. 
Death makes of life a secret worth the 

solving. 
Perhaps if we could solve it, see beyond, 
Life would be something to avoid at once. 
Pm a philosopher, Egypt. But Pm human. 
I want the thing I know I shouldn't want. 
You're much more wonderful, just as you 

are. 
Than if the desert-cat explained herself. 
But I want to see one of the shadows move, 
A falling fragment of the pyramid. 

Egypt. 

Life is the pyramid, with death inside. 

The Poet. 

Let's have a bit of the surface then. Come 

on! 
One of your secrets, Egypt, one of your 

loves. 
And I'll have some coffee too and a couple of 

cakes. 



82 A Night-Wind 

Egypt. 

Which cake? 

The Poet. 

The dark one with the honey in it. 

Egypt. 

And the secret with the honey in it? 

The Poet. 

Yes. 

Abdul, for instance. 

Egypt. 

ISmilin^ and crossing for the coffee'] 
Abdul is no secret. 
Abdul's the evening paper — of last year. 
I read him, though. The news is never new. 

The Poet. 

Never? 

Egypt. 

Well, almost never. Once, just once. 
Only one secret. 



A Night- Wind 83 

The Poet. 

Who was yours? 
\_Egypt returns with the cofee and cakes 
and, as she sets them down, whispers in 
his ear'\ 

The Poet. 

Not really? 
I haven't seen him round here for some time. 
Where has he been? 



Egypt. 



The Poet. 



The coast — with Muriel. 



Oh? 



Egypt. 

But he's back. 

The Poet. 

And she? 

Egypt. 

She's back. Richer than ever. 



84 A Night-Wind 

Her mother died. And Muriel gave a 

party, 
Everything gray and green and lavender 
To go with absinthe from the family-cellar. 
[^Handing him a clipping which she unpins 
from the wall] 
The San Francisco paper told about it. 
He arrived in town this morning. He'll be 

round. 
He'll come to The Pyramid and drink his 

coffee 
And never speak. 

The Poet. 

And she? 

Egypt. 

She used to come — 
With her furs. Not any more, I don't know 

why. 
Perhaps I do. I hope to God I do. 

The Poet. 

Does Abdul know ? 



A Night-Wind 85 

Egypt. 

He knows as much as I know. 
I tell him everything I have to tell. 
I take off all my shadows. He's a bathtub. 
I bathe in him. 

The Poet. 

And in the other one? 

Egypt. 

In him, you mean? 

The Poet. 

Your secret. 

Egypt. 

Don't you laugh. 
I used to swim. 

\^A Girl enters, with bobbed hair and a 
surface hardness, handsome tall and 
strong, yet haggard and nervous^ 

The Girl. 

Give me some coffee, Egypt. 



86 A Night-Wind 

Egypt. 

You left your flask at home? 

The Girl. 

I got to quit. 

The Poet. 
What's up ? 

The Girl. 

I got to sleep. 

The Poet. 

On coffee? 

The Girl. 

Sure. 
Coffee's my good-night kiss. And here's my 
dreams. 
\^Takin0 out of her smock a phial of tab- 
lets and pouring some of them out on the 
tableJi 
The doctor gave 'em to me. One of 'em, 
Not more than one, he said. But, Lord, 
I guess I must 'a' got a pickled heart ! 



A Night-Wind 87 

Four do the job for me. I tried first one, 
Then two, then three. But four's my num- 
ber, kid. 
I slept last night. 

\_A Fellow comes into the room, with a 
heavy, surly magnetism'] 

What do you know! He's back! 
You never answered my letter, did you ! 

The Fellow. 

No. 
[Egypt takes a hesitant step toward him. 
He nods to her and to the poet. She 
crosses to the stove and returns with two 
cups of coffee, which she places on the 
table. He starts again toward the door] 

Egypt. 

You're leaving? 

The Fellow. 

Telephone. 

The Girl. 

To Muriel? 



88 A Night-Wind 

The Fellow. 

Yes. 

The Girl. 

You got a date? 

The Fellow. 

I have. In half an hour. 
[He goes out. Egypt returns to the 
stove'\ 

The Girl. 

I thought they were out west. 

The Poet. 

[Handing her the clipping from the table"] 

They were. 

The Girl. 

[Reading] 

Some baby! 
Has to keep going, doesn't she ! 

The Poet. 

Good-looking, 



A Night-Wind 89 

Knows what she wants and takes it too, 
that's all. 

The Girl. 

She knows what other people want, that's 

all- 
Takes it away from 'em for fun, that's all, 
Buys it whether she wants it or not, that's 

all— 
To spite 'em, that's her way. I'll fix her 

party, 
I'll give him one o' these and make him 

sleepy. 

The Poet. 

That's not a bad idea. 

The Girl. 

You're right, it Isn't. 
Here goes for mine. 

[She drops four tablets into her cofee'\ 

Egypt. 

[From the screen] 

Doesn't it spoil the taste? 



90 A Night-Wind 

The Girl. 
No taste at all. 

Egypt. 

To the coffee? 

The Girl. 

To the stuff. 
\_Egypt goes behind the screen again'\ 

The Girl. 

[^Continuing to the paet~\ 
And as for him, he's worse'n Muriel is, — • 
A great big husky, playing off he's sick, 
Pretending that his heart is on the bum, 
Making us mother him, us damn fool women. 
Why is it women like to be damn fools? 
Got to have something. Guess I'll buy a 

dog— 
And no more soul-stuff ! 



The Poet. 

So he talks. 



A Night-Wind 91 

The Girl. 

You bet 
He's glum enough, with other people round — 
But when he's alone with a girl, he talks his 

head off. 
The line o' soul-stuff he can pull, my God ! 
Give me an animal that knows he's one. 
l^She drinks her coffee, while the poet 
crosses to the screen and, with his hand on 
its tap, speaks beyond it. Egypt's face is 
visible over the screen^ 

The Poet. 

There's a night-wind on the desert. Some- 
thing moves — 
A fragment falling from the pyramid, 
The shadow of a secret. 

Egypt. 

Let it fall. 
[They do not notice the girl slipping four 
of her tablets into the fellow's cup'\ 

The Poet. 

Two shadows, Egypt. 



92 A Night-Wind 

Egypt. 

Yes? 

The Poet. 

One secret, Egypt. 

Egypt. 

You poets know too much. 

[^She comes to the table with her own 
coffee} 

The Poet. 

We know too much — 
Yes, about everything except ourselves. 
[The fellow comes back again. Egypt in- 
dicates his cup. He sits with head and 
shoulders forward, his hat shading his 
face. They all drink their coffee, except 
Egypt, who watches him'\ 

The Poet. 

How soon does it make you sleepy? 

The Girl. 

Right away, 
With four of 'em. 



The Poet. 



A Night-Wind 93 



What about his? 



The Girl. 

No go. 
Let 'em alone. It's a free world, I say. 
Each to his taste, however bad it is ! 

l^Risinff dully'\ 
Good-night. It's me for bed. 

The Poet. 

Sleep well. 

The Girl. 

You bet. 
l^She goes out. The poet picks up the 
clipping again] 

The Poet. 

[To the fellow"] 
I see that you and Muriel made a hit 
In San Francisco with your absinthe party. 
A drink out there's like christening a ship, 



94 A Night-Wind 

Breaking a bottle on the prow of the world. 
Didn't it strike you that way? 



The Fellow. 

No. 

The Poet. 

I'm sorry. 
I'll look in later, Egypt. 

[^Egypt nods and the poet leaves them. 
There is a pause~\ 

Egypt. 

Why do you come ? 
You always come like this. And you never 

speak. 
Do you care for Muriel ? For anyone? . . . 
I am going to tell you something. All this 

time 
I have let you come. You can't come any 

more. 
It's them or me. It can't be all of us. 
Here's what I've got to say. I've gone 

along, 
I've tried it out the way you told me to. 



A Night-Wind 95 

No use, there's nothing in it. You're my 

man. 
But we got to be clean, we got to be straight 

with ourselves. 
We got to take each other or let go. 
You always think there's something round 

the corner. 
I used to think so too. But, after all, 
Soon as you're round the corner, it's the 

same — 
There's something round another corner, 

see? 
And here's the truth of it, here's the whole 

thing — 
There's something round the corner, looking 

back, 
Something that's just as good, the thing you 

had, 
Something that's better if you'll only take it 
And not be restless, not be on the hunt, 
Looking for something you can never 

find . . . 
Go out and ask the sky, all by yourself . . . 
If it's a home you had — honest-to-God 
Real home, I mean — you'd better turn around 



g6 A Night-Wind 

And choose the thing you know vou got. 

Speak up 
And tell me now. Do you want this home 
in here? 
[She presses both her hands to her heart'\ 
It's here. You can count on that, it's here. 

And mine — 
Is there — with you, old boy. 

[^She clasps his hand on the tahle'\ 

What makes your hand — ? 
What makes it cold! You're cold, you're 
icy cold I 
\His arms had supported his weight. As 
she picks up his two hands, his body falls 
forward. She lifts him up. His head 
topples back and his hat of, revealing 
a face dead-white and lifeless. After a 
moment, she is sure. She lets his shoul- 
ders rest again on the table, just as the 
girl enters breathless at the door.] 



The Girl. 

Has he drunk it? I was a fool! He 
mustn't drink it! 



A Night-Wind 97 

All right for me, but I forgot his heart I 
I put 'em in his coffee, four of 'em. 

\_Knowinff by the look in Egypt's face^ 
I killed him, Egypt, but I didn't mean to ! 

Egypt. 

I wonder if he's thinking anything. 

The Girl. 

And Muriel waiting for him. 

Egypt. 

So was I. 

[The poet enters'} 

The Girl. 

He's dead. I killed him. 

The Poet. 

Not with the tablets ! 

The Girl. 

Yes. 

The Poet. 

[Appalled] 
It will be all right. 



98 



A Night-Wind 



Egypt. 



It will be all right for him. 



The Poet. 

'[Putting the fellovt/s cup into his own 
pocket^ 
It was his heart. I saw him. I was here. 
It was his heart. 

Egypt. 

Take her away, my friend. 

The Poet. 

What else can I do? 



Egypt. 



Call up the coroner. 



The Poet. 

I'll try to. But it's late — 



Egypt. 

I understand. 
They'll come here in the morning. That's 
all right. 



A Night-Wind 99 

The Poet. 

But there's no one with you, Egypt. 

Egypt. 

Yes, there is. 
l^The poet leads out the dazed girl. 
Egypt closes the door behind them and 
locks it^ 

Egypt. 

[Re turning to him'] 
— Have you decided to come home, my dear? 
[She takes of her bright-colored shawl, 
covers the figure with it, then sits beside 
him] 

curtaush 



Tiger 



To Arthur Davison Ficke 



*Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?* 



Time: Evening. 

Scene: A room in a house not far east of 
Times Square. A curtained door at the hack 
of the stage leads into the hallway. A closed 
door at the right leads into an inner bedroom. 
The furniture and pictures are more showy 
than expensive. The shades are drawn. 

At the rise of the curtain, the keeper of the 
house sits in an easy-chair. She is a woman 
of thirty-five, handsome, well-dressed. Her 
familiars call her Tiger, on account of her 
hard, lithe brilliance. She is looking over a 
handful of bills and writing cheques with a 
fountain-pen on the arm of the chair. On a 
couch reclines Annabel, a girl of twenty-four, 
beginning to fade under her paint, but an effec- 
tive type still, with her hair parted and drawn 
simply over her forehead to a flat coil behind. 
103 



104 TiGEK 

She is in a loose, thin dressing-gown, reading 
a novel, eating chocolates and smoking cigar- 
ettes. An ash-tray, cigarettes, chewing-gum 
and the chocolates are on a chair beside the 
couch. At a table across the room, a man of 
thirty, with somewhat refined features, a sug- 
gestive pallor and flush, and a habit of biting 
the skin on his red lips and of rubbing his 
thumb over his finger-tips, is pouring himself 
a glass of straight gin. He is over-dressed, 
over-mannered and wears several bright rings, 
but might pass with the young for a gentleman. 
On account of what is known as his 'class' he 
has been dubbed The Baron. 

Annabel. 

Put water In it, Baron. Spare your liver. 

Baron. 

Mind your own liver and shut up, will you? 

Whenever I want your dope, I'll ask for it. 
[She returns to her reading. He gulps 
his drink, then loiters toward Tiger. Sud- 
denly he sits on the arm of her chair, 
catches her close and kisses her hard^ 



Tiger 105 

Tiger. 

[Pushing him awayl 
Cut out that stuff, Baron. 

[Picking up her bills from the floor'] 

Come across first 
With what you promised. 

Baron. 

Oh, you needn't worry. 
Dear Mama Shylock. You're going to 

get your pound 
Of flesh, — I've said that you shall have her 

here 
To-night, She may be waiting for me now — 

[He looks at his wrist-watch] 
Less than a block away, ready to serve 
And honor and obey me. — Damn you, 

Tiger! 
I wonder if I love you more or hate you. 
Damn you, anyway ! 

Tiger. 

Oh, swear your head off! 
Go over it again, make up your mind 
One way and then the other! 



io6 Tiger 

[Looking up from her bills'] 

Kiss me, kid I 
[He kisses her hungrily. She stands up 
and throws him away from her] 
Now snarl at me, you cur. I don't know 

why 
I keep you round; except to purr and snarl 
Myself, — first kiss your feminine eyes 

because 
They look so lost in the world, then curse 

your breed, 
You most of all, because you're so unlike 
The brutes I'm tired of. 

[She crosses to lay bills and cheques in 
her desk] 

But what's the use 
Of bothering? You suit me. And you're 

good 
For the business. Run along and bring her 
here. 
[She sits at her desk and writes] 

Baron. 

Remember now. She's young, and I'm her 
first 



Tiger 107 

Offence. And I've been careful with her, 

Tiger, 
Not touched her fingers only once or twice 
And used good English and been sym- 
pathetic. 

Tiger. 

Oh, yes, I know all that. 

Baron. 

\_Takingi a cigarette from AnnaheVs 
supplyl^ 

She's different though, 

She hasn't got the taste for it beforehand 
Most of them have. 

Tiger. 

{^Looking round as she seals a letter^ 

Then she's the very kind 
We want, old boy. The other kind is com- 
mon 
And some of our customers amuse them- 
selves. 
You know, by being fastidious. Is she a 
blonde? 



io8 



Tiger 



Worse luck. 



Baron. 
Brunette. 

Tiger. 

Baron. 

No, you can fix that up. 
Light hair'd go fine with her dark eyes, good 

change. 
She's just the girl for it, solemn and slow 
And innocent. Poor kid, I pity her. 

Tiger. 

You act like you were getting stuck on her; 
Perhaps she'll keep you when you're tired 
of me. 



Baron. 

You've got me hypnotized. I don't get tired. 

Tiger. 

[She approaches him, seductively, mock- 
ingly'\ 
Be true to me, sweetheart I 



Tiger 109 

Baron. 

To hell with you! 

[She lays her hand insidiously on his arm. 
At once he seizes and kisses her. She 
leads him to the hallway door, and opens 
it as he kisses her again, then she pushes 
him out with both hands and, closing the 
door, turns back to Annabel, who at every 
amorous passage between Tiger and the 
Baron has looked up from her book and 
watched with curious but accustomed in- 
terest'] 

Annabel. 

[Chewing gum] 
Gee, but I wish I had a man like that! 

Tiger. 

You'd have one, dear, if you were business- 
like. 

Annabel. 

[Shaking her head and marking her place 
in the book with a cigarette] 
I couldn't hold a man. They get so bored 
With me. And, after all, there isn't much 



no Tiger 

To say to one man. I'd be bored myself 
To have to think of new things all the time. 
Variety, Tiger, is the spice of life. 
Not in the spiel but in the spielers. Dear, 
Do you like my hair this way? One of th% 

boys 
Suggested that it makes me look too old. 
I think I'll put it back again. 
{She starts to uncoil it'\ 

Tiger. 

No, no! 
Leave it to me ! You'll be told quick enough 
When you look old. Let it alone. 

Annabel. 

Well, looks 
Ain't everything. I'm getting wise to the 

game. 
Say to a gink, 'Your nose is beautiful,' 
'Your mouth was made to kiss,' or call his 

figure 
Mihtary. 

[^She examines herself critically in a hand- 
mirror which she takes from under a sofa- 
cushion~\ 



Tiger hi 

Tiger. 

There's just one kind of figure 
That makes a hit with me. A good full 
chest ! 

Annabel. 

Gee, ain't they handsome when they have 
green — backs ! 
[They laugh] 
I told a guy last night that it takes dough 
To make a tart. Dear, that's my own! 

Tiger. 

And say, 

Here's business, Annabel, take it from me! 

You've seen the belly on the dollar-sign? — 

Well, the man who has the stomach has the 

figure ! 

Annabel. 

I've noticed that. 

Tiger. 

Sure thing! And while he thinks 



112 Tiger 

You're waiting for his phoney kisses — pay 
Attention to his stomach and his roll! 
Make him eat, drink and spend I My dear, 

the way 
To passion's thro' the stomach every time. 

Annabel. 

[Meditative'] 
Champagne, you mean? 

Tiger. 

Eve got there with an apple. 
But the apple has fermented some since then. 

Annabel. 

[Laughing with Tiger] 
We have a good time, don't we ! 

Tiger 

You do, dear. 
You've been here seven months and, 

Annabel, 
You never once in all that time have had 
A grouch. 



Tiger 113 

Annabel. 

You're square with me, Tiger, that's 
why. 

Tiger. 

But, on the level, you don't like the life ? 

Annabel. 

Better than selling underwear to women 
And paying fines on four whole bucks a 

week! 
Talk as you please, the men have more 

respect 
For a girl that's a good looker and can earn 
A seat in a restaurant than for a dub 
Who stands up all day waiting on their 

wives. 

Tiger. 

Besides, you have as good a chance as me 
To save up coin enough before you're old 
And rent a house and get some girls to- 
gether — 
And after a while to live in a good hotel 



114. Tiger 

And settle down respectable. — Perhaps 
A friend or two. But independent, 

Annabel. 

Chance ! 
Yes, I've got that. But, dear, I haven't got 
The brains to make a hit in any line. 
I know my limit and I'm satisfied. 
I'm better off than I ever was at home, 
And that's enough. The future can go hang. 
There's more than one way to prepare a 

corpse. 
Ain't I the cheerful guy? 

Tiger. 

You're lazy, dear, 
That's all the matter with you. 

Annabel. 

Who's the new girl? 
Tiger. 

Oh, I don't know. The Baron falls for me. 

So I can trust his taste. 

Annabel. 

Say, does he fall? 
He's jealous, now, of me! 



Tiger i i fj 

Tiger. 

Who's on the job 
Downstairs? 

Annabel. 

Cassie to-night. I'm tired. She knows 
The steps and laughs a lot, loosens 'em up. 
She's popular. 

Tiger. 

And she's the Baron's work, — 
He brought her here last winter. Cassie 

thinks 
The Baron the one bet and he, poor kid, 
Just keeps her on because I tell him to. 
And see how well the combination works ?— 
The happy family! 

Annabel. 

Business-like's the word! 

\^A knock is heard at the hallway door] 

Tiger. 

Quick there! Be business-like yourself for 

once ! 
Clear off those things I 



ii6 Tiger 

Annabel. 

All right. 
[While Annabel puts bottles and glasses 
under the table so that they are hidden by 
the table-cover, Tiger picks up the gum, 
cigarettes and ash-tray from the chair and 
tucks them all under a sofa-cushion. The 
knock is repeated^ 

Annabel. 

My fancy-work, 
Where is it? 

Tiger. 

[Taking a piece of embroidery from under 
a cushion'] 

Here. 
[She hands it to Annabel and crosses to 
the easy-chair] 

Annabel. 

[Sitting on the couch, with the embroid- 
ery, as though she had been sewing'] 

Now we're a boarding-hpyse I 



Tiger 117 

Tiger. 

Throw me the book! 

lAnnabel throws Tiger the novel from 
the couch, Tiger holds it as though she 
had been reading'] 

Come in! 

l^The Baron enters, leading by the hand 
Margaret, a simple, romantic girl of 
sixteen. She is in street-clothes. She 
looks toward the two women bashfully, 
innocently, as they rise and come toward 
her] 

Baron. 

It's Margaret. 
This is Miss Dillingham, my aunt, and 

here's 
My Cousin Ann. 

Margaret. 

How do you do? Gene's told 
Me lots about you. I suppose you think 
I'm foolish running away like this? 



ii8 



Tiger 



Why, no! 



Tiger. 

You loved each other, Margaret. 

Margaret. 

My aunt 

Was angry when he wanted to call. You 
see, 

She's not like you, Miss Dillingham; she's 
set 

And so old-fashioned. And she thought be- 
cause 

Gene works in a store he isn't good enough. 

She said I never should have talked with 
him 

At all. And then she didn't like his voice 

pn the telephone. ... I do, don't I, 
Eugene ! 

Baron. 

[His arm round her'\ 
I guess you do, darling. 

Margaret. 

You see, my aunt 
Has been with us for years and father takes 



Tiger 119 

Her word as law. I knew what she would 

say 
About Eugene and how she'd make it sound. 
At first I thought he'd better go himself 
And see my father. 

Baron. 

But I told you, dear, 
He wouldn't fall for me. And give you 

up? 
I couldn't, could I ! 

Margaret. 

No. And so I thought 
And thought — and prayed. And finally I 
came. 

Tiger. 

And aren't you tired out? Let Annabel 
Show you your room. You ought to rest 

before 
Your marriage, dear. 

[Annabel opens the bedroom door. Mar- 
garet, vaguely troubled, does not follow 
herl 



120 

Margaret. 

Baron. 

To-morrow. 



Tiger 



We must be married now. 



Margaret. 



Baron. 



Oh, I thought to-night. 

But first 
I have to get a license and attend 
To things like that. And I can leave you 

here 
With Tige — Miss Dillingham. She'll take 

good care 
Of you. 

Margaret. 

[Doubtfully^ 

I'll do, Gene, as you say. 



Annabel. 

Is ready for you. 



Your room 



Tiger 121 

Margaret. 

[Crossing to the Baron'] 

If I'd only waited 
And told my father! He might not have 

felt 
As Aunt Louisa felt. It seems so mean 
Of me to run away from him. But I left 
A little message on his dressing-case 
Saying that he would hear from me to- 
morrow. 

Tiger. 

You didn't write him anything about 
Eugene? — or where you 

Margaret. 

We thought best to wait, 
Not to say anything till we could go 
Together, to him, married, hand In hand, 
And make him like us both. 

Tiger. 

When will he find 
The note? 



122 Tiger 

Margaret. 

To-night. Or — let me see, — 
what day — ? 

Why, it's Friday! Then he won't be home 

till Monday. 
I hadn't thought of that. He always goes 
To the country somewhere Sunday with his 

friends. 
Poor Aunt Louisa will be scared to death 
When I'm not back for dinner. 

Annabel. 

But the note. 
She'll find it. 

Baron. 

Sure, and send your father word. 

Margaret. 

She won't know where to reach him. 

Annabel. 

Then I'll go 
And 'phone your auntie that you're safe 

with me, — 
One of your friends. Who shall I say I am? 



Tiger 123 

Margaret. 

Oh no, that would be worse. 

Tiger. 

That would be lying. 
You must be tired, Margaret. 

Margaret. 

Yes, I am. 
{With a smile'] 
You see, I never ran away before. 

Annabel. 

Didn't you bring ? 

Margaret. 

I didn't dare. I just 
Went out and walked like some one in a 

dream 
And took the train. My heart was beat- 
ing so, 
I thought that people would look round 
at me. 

Tiger. 

And did they? 



124 Tiger 

Margaret. 

No. 

Tiger. 

That's right ! Come, 
Annabel, 

She's talked enough for now. Lend her 

something 
To wear to-night. 



Annabel. 

Sure will I. 
[As she goes up toward the hallway door, 
a knock is heard^ 

Who's there? 
[She opens the door slightly and takes 
from some one a cup of tea^ 

Thanks. 

Tiger. 

[Crossing and taking the cup from 
Annabel^ 
Oh, yes, we've made some nice, hot tea. 
[Exit Annabel^ 



Tiger 125 

Margaret. 

For me? 
No, thanks. 

Tiger. 

Take it this once, it'll do you good. 
Margaret. 

[^Tasting it'\ 
Isn't it very strong? 

Tiger. 

There's medicine 

Margaret. 

I don't need medicine. 

Tiger. 

It's very little. 
Only to rest your nerves and make you 
sleep. 

Margaret. 

[To the Baron] 
I'll take it if you ask me. 

Baron. 

Take it, dear. 
That's right. All downl 



126 Tiger 

Margaret. 

It burns. 

Baron. 

One 

swallow more ! 
[^Annabel returns with a nigh,t-dress\ 

Tiger. 

Leave her to Ann and me now till the 
morning. 

Baron. 

There. Thank you, sweetheart. 

{He takes the empty cup from her and 
hands it to Tiger, who lays it down'] 

Good-night, 
Margaret. 
[He holds her hand in both his] 

Margaret. 

Good-night, Eugene. 

[She shyly lifts her face to him. He kisses 
her'] 



Baron. 
Margaret. 



Tiger 127 



To-morrow, darling! 



Yes. 

[^Margaret goes into the bedroom. Anna- 
bel, with a wink to the others, follows 
her, closing the door. The Baron turns 
from Margaret and looks at Tiger, who 
stands facing him with her arms down. 
She smiles and nods. He crosses to her, 
puts his arms round her, holds her now 
with assurance and kisses her. She re- 
sponds by kissing his eyes. 

The stage now darkens to indicate the 
lapse of time from Friday night to Sunday 
night. When it grows light again, a small 
table is beside the couch, with a chair or 
two round it, and with cards on it 
and poker-chips. The Baron sits on 
the couch idly throwing poker-dice. An- 
nabel, who has been as idly watching 
him, crosses to the closed door of the bed- 
room and leans with her ear to the crack 
of //] 



128 Tiger 

Annabel. 

[Moving away again from the door] 
That little girl's more bother than she's 
worth. 

Baron. 

[Still throwing the dicel 
The stuff you gave her in that tea started 
The devil in her. Every finger-nail 
In action ! Tiger bawled me out for quitting. 
Poor little girl! I wish she wasn't caught. 
Damn it, I was a dog! 

Annabel. 

Well, you lap the hand 
That feeds you ! 

Baron. 

[Putting down the dice"] 

Shut up now! I can know myself 
And kick myself. But I won't let you do it 1 

Annabel. 

Oh, well, who wants to kick a rotten egg? 



Tiger 129 

Baron. 

[He jumps up and, catching her by the 
wrist, twists it'] 
I'll teach you 

Annabel. 

[^Catching him in the stomach with her 
kneel 

Will you? 

[Tiger enters from the hallway] 

Tiger. 

Stop making love, 
you two! 
[Crossing and listening at the door~\ 
How is she, quiet? 

Annabel. 

There hasn't been a squeak 
To-day. 

Baron. 

[Back at his dice] 

My God, she couldn't cry 
any more ! 



130 Tiger 

[Tiffer turns round at his tone, crosses to 
him, lifts his chin with her fingers and 
looks into his eyes^ 

Tiger 

If you should dare to let her out, you fool! 

Baron. 
Who's going to let her out? I did the thing. 
And I know why. And you know why I 
did it! 
Tiger. 

[Walking away from him'\ 
I've paid you. 

Baron. 

lAmorous~\ 

Kiss me, Tige! 

Tiger. 

Let me alone I 
[Turning sharply'] 

Good God, you don't think I'm in this for 

fun I 

I'm in it for the future. And there'll be 

No Baron in my future. 

[5^^ walks away again] 



Tiger 131 

Baron. 

IHe follows her and, grasping her 
shoulders, turns her to face him] 

Wait and see! 
You'll need me, Tiger, more than I'll need 
you. 

Tiger. 

[Looking at him shrewdly] 
You think so? Annabel, bring me her 

clothes. 
I guess I'll keep an eye on them myself. 

[Exit Annabel into the hall] 

Baron. 

There's mighty little you don't keep an 
eye on. 

Tiger. 

You nearly took up Cassie for your girl, 
And Cassie bores you. Baron. Some one's 

got 
To use their eyes for you. You don't use 

yours. 



132 Tiger 

Baron. 

You're jealous, Tige. Insult me, kid, I 
love It! 

Tiger. 

It's business. Baron. Jealousy's a joke. 
You know me well enough to quit your bluff 
And quit me too, or else to give this girl 
The go-by. It's plain business. Do you get 
me? 

Annabel. 

[Returning with Margaret's clothes and 
hat] 
Where shall I put them. Tiger? 

Tiger. 

Leave them there 
For now. And put that over them. 

\_She indicates her own cloak. Annabel 
lays them on the couch] 

Baron. 

[^Cowed'j 

You're dippy. 
I wouldn't do a thing you didn't want. 



Tiger 133 

Tiger. 

{^Crossing toward the bedroom] 
What time is it? I guess I'll try again. 

Baron. 

She hasn't had a bite of food — since when? 

Annabel. 

Not since she came. 

Baron. 

Lord, Tiger, give her something 1 

Tiger. 

This is my business now. You've done your 

part. 
Get out of here I 

Baron. 

You bet I 

Tiger. 

Come back on Tuesday. 
These little cooings will be over then. 



134 Tiger 

Baron. 

They're over now. I love you, Tige, you 
devil ! 
[He kisses her passionately')^ 

Tiger. 

[fFearily'] 
Good-night. 

[Exit the Baron] 

Annabel. 

You sure have got him going, Tiger. 

Tiger. 

I'm sick of him ! But I can't throw him 

down. 
The fool might shoot me or else go and blab. 
He's the only one I've cared for in ten years; 
And I knew, the night I met him, that I ought 
To look away and leave him be. It comes 
Of letting sentiment into your business. 

Annabel. 

I wonder if Pll ever fall in love. 



( 



Tiger 135 

Tiger. 

The only other man I ever loved 
Married me, and he used me like a dog. 
The time I wasted moping for that boy 
Would have set me up by now in Easy 

Street. 
I hung on fourteen months. He didn't hand 
Me coin enough for food — there were other 

girls 
More business-like who hadn't married 

him— 
Then he cussed me when I couldn't buy his 

friends 
Big eats at home. One of them helped me 

out 
The last two months. He liked me. And 

I ran 
Away with him, I learned a lot from him. 
A man's an easy mark unless you love him. 
I love that first one yet. 

[Crossing to the bedroom door and signi- 
fying Margaret with her head'\ 

She loves the Baron. 

[^Speaking through the door'] 



136 Tiger 

Margaret? — When you choose you can have 

food. 
Just say the word and you'll have it — not 

before. 
You know what good your screams did 

yesterday ! — 
And you can cry till doomsday if you want, 
Nobody'll hear. Your father'll never come. 
And you won't kill yourself. I didn't, dear. 
Just say the word, I'll send you in Eugene — • 
Or some one else — and food! 

Annabel. 

[Improving her make-up. Pallor and red 
lips are effective with her black hair^ 

She may be dead. 
Tiger. 

Dead nothing ! I can hear her through the 

door. 
She'll come to terms. Hunger and time are 

good 
Persuaders. And she knows the Baron's 

waiting. 
He'll teach her first. Then nothing mat- 
ters much. 



Tiger 137 

Ten or twelve hours more and she'll begin. 
She'll not be too unhappy, you know that, — 
Probably happier than she would have been 
With a cold husband and an empty life 
Selected for her by her Aunt Louisa. 

[There's a knock at the hallway door. 

Annabel goes to it'\ 

Tiger. 
Who is it? 

Annabel. 

Willie's here. 
Tiger. 

Well, let him m. 
Annabel. 

You think ? 

Tiger. 

It's safe enough. He's an old friend. 
He knows the game and plays it like a good 

one. 
In fact it's sports like Willie have to have 
The dainty morsels. 

[She moves Annabel out of the way and 
opens the door herself} 



138 Tiger 

Come In. How are things? 
[Enter Willie, a patron, of later middle- 
age, a stout, prosperous-looking , pleasant 
gentleman^ 



Willie. 

I'm fine — but hungry, Tiger. Cassie said 

She'd send my supper here. I've been out- 
doors 

All day at Ardsley — golf — played well 
to-day. 

And by the way, we asked a girl out there 

— ^A decent girl, you know — to join a four- 
some; 

And what do you suppose she said, not 
meaning it 

At all, referring as she thought to one 

Of the sticks? 'I never play,' she said, 'don't 
know 

A thing about it, shouldn't even know 

Which end of the caddy to use.' 
[They all laugh] 

Good, isn't it! 

Wonderful figure when she tried a stroke. 



Tiger 139 

And a lovely face, no paint, fresh lips, 

young, young! 
You ought to have that kind of girl. I'm 

tired 
Of all your girls ! I come here still because 
I like you, Tiger. 
\Looking round^ 

I'm tired of Annabel. 

Annabel. 

[With a deep bow^ 
Oh, thank you, Willie. 

Willie. 

— Cassie, all of them, 
The same old faces. Haven't you something 
new? 

Tiger. 

I'm tired, Willie, of that same old question. 
[A sudden sobbing is heard in the inner 

bedroom^ 

Willie. 
Listen ! 

[// dies away into a moan'] 
What was that. Tiger? 



140 Tiger 

Tiger. 

l^Crossing and whispering in his ear with 
a smile'\ 

'Something new I' 

Willie. 

What do you mean? A new one? In that 
room? 

Tiger. 

Come here now, dearie! — On your honor, 

sir. 
As a friend and gentleman — repeat it, 

please ! 

Willie. 

Well, Tiger, on my honor 

Tiger. 

If I put 
You wise to a professional master-stroke, 
You will not preach nor peach? 

Willie. 

I swear. 

Tiger. 

Willie, 
The 'something new' was brought here 



Tiger 141 

Willie. 

Never mind 
The story; is she young? 

Tiger. 

Young as they come, 
And new to it, — in fact rebellious, dear, 
And fasting for her pains. 

Willie. 

I'll break her in ! 

Tiger. 

The Baron's a much better hand at It. 

Willie. 

Oh, come ! It's an adventure ! — let me try I 
She'll trust me, Tige, I look so fatherly. 

Tiger. 

No, no, — some other time. There's nothing 
in it. 

Willie. 

But, darling, an experience and different I 
Girls like me. Tiger. Come on, let me try 1 
I'll make it worth your while. 



142 Tiger 

Tiger. 

Well, you may have 
Your supper with her, if you want to pay 
Big money. 

Willie. 

Sure. I'm rich to-night. I won 
A case last week. And I am going to win 
Another case to-night, — you know, a case 
Of love at first sight. That's how I feel! 

Tiger. 

Go in. 

And don't believe the fiction that you'll hear. 
She's peevish now, that's all. You know 

these girls 
And their romances and their grievances. 
Help her forget them, Willie. 

\_She takes a key out of her pocket and 
puts it in the lock of the bedroom door, 
then turns before she opens the door'] 

Pommery? 
Willie. 

iNoddin^] 
And a tasty little supper for your Willie ! 



Tiger 143 



Tiger. 

[Unlocking the door] 
Remember now, you're not to preach- 

WlLLIE. 



Nor peach. 
Tiger. 
Promise I 

Willie. 

I promise. Wish me good luck, Tiger! 
[She opens the door for him; he enters 
the bedroom. There is a pause, then, in- 
side the bedroom, a scream of mingled 
terror and joy from the girl, and a moan 
from the man] 

Margaret. 

[^Her voice is heard, heartrending] 
Father! Father, I knew you'd come! 
Father! 

Willie. 

[Reappearing and facing the women, 
livid] 
Give me her clothes ! Damn you, give me 
her clothes ! 



144 Tiger 

l^Tiger stands motionless, petrified. Anna- 
bel crosses as in a nightmare and picks up 
Margaret s clothes from the couch. As 
she pulls them across the table, the poker- 
chips are dragged to the floor. Annabel 
turns at the sound and looks down at the 
poker-chips, dazed. Willie re-enters the 
bedroom. Annabel suddenly drops the 
clothes on the floor and runs out into the 
hall. Tiger stands motionless'] 



CURTAIN 



Cycle 



To Kahlil Gibran 



l^The scene is a thickly furnished library 
in the home of a Prussian officer. Books 
are all about in ornate cases. There is a 
double door at the back, a fire-place at the 
left and, over a book-case at the right, a 
long narrow stained-glass window de- 
signed about a coat-of-arms. Friedrich 
the officer, leaning over a desk at the left, 
is indicating to his wife, Rosa, certain 
points in a map of Asia Minor^ 

Elisabeth. 

\^A girl of fifteen, entering'^ 
Please, father, may I show my friends the 

snap-shots ? — 
The ones you took? 

Friedrich. 

{^Handing them to her from a desk- 
drawer^ 

Yes, Elsa, certainly. 
[She runs happily out with the photo- 
graphs^ 

W 



148 Cycle 

Rosa. 

Why did you laugh at what I asked you, 

Friedrich? 
Because it was untrue? — ridiculous? 

Friedrich. 

Why do you listen to a servant, Rosa? 

Rosa. 

It was untrue? 

Friedrich. 

Where is the girl? 

Rosa. 

She's gone. 

Friedrich. 

So, after listening to a servant's gossip, 
You've joined the enemy, have you? 

Rosa. 

Friedrich, no! 

Friedrich. 

When I come home from war, home to my 

wife, 
You accuse me — 



Cycle 149 

Rosa. 

No. I only asked. 

Friedrich. 

Don't ask. 
Do you teach our little girl, Elisabeth, 
To ask such questions? 

Rosa. 

No. 

Friedrich. 

Teach her good sense. 
Teach her to keep her servants in their place. 
Who was this servant? How should she 

have news 
Of what went on in Syria ? 

Rosa. 

Through her husband. 

Friedrich. 
A soldier? 



150 Cycle 

Rosa. 

Yes. An orderly. 

Friedrich. 

The name! 

Rosa. 

I don't remember. 

Friedrich. 

Your own servant's name? 

Rosa. 

She left so soon. 

Friedrich. 

She said we fattened them, 
We fattened them before we tasted them, 
Plump Syrian pheasants for an officer's 

table — 
And my wife believed her I 

Rosa. 

No, I only asked. 



Cycle 151 

Friedrich. 

l^Reasonably^ 
The Turks, of course, were on their own 

behavior. 
It seems that in hot countries men must 

change 
Their ladies, like their linen, frequently. 
Perhaps, if we'd remained there long 

enough, 
Even the rest of us — 

Rosa. 

She said the Turks — 
The Turkish officers — ^would seldom join. 
But the northerners — 

Friedrich. 

{^Interrupting sternly^ 

We do our duty, Rosa. 
They wanted the world for themselves and 

they had to be shown, 
French, English, Russians — 

Rosa. 

But not Syrians ! 



152 Cycle 

Friedrich. 

Yes. 
They'd be our enemies too, if they were free. 
They have to be shown, as the others had to 

be shown, 
That the sooner we enjoy our place in the 

sun. 

The better for them all. We frighten them. 
It isn't pleasant work. It's part of war. 

Rosa. 

This wretched war ! 

Friedrich. 

This necessary war. 
God willed it. 

Rosa. 

Not the God I pray to. 

Friedrich. 

Christ? . ' 

Did you decide this with your servant too ? . 

Rosa. 

Are you deciding it, Friedrich, for a servant? 



Cycle 153 

Friedrich. 

Did she particularize? 
{^Sarcastic^ 

You should have asked 
The name and date and place. 

Rosa. 

In Lebanon, 
Ten months ago, she said. 

Friedrich. 

The filthy liar! 

Elisabeth. 

{Running in again, with the photographs^ 
They loved the camels and the funny houses. 
And look at this one. 

Friedrich. 

{Taking it^ 

What? I didn't mean — 
Was that among them? 

Elisabeth. 

All those little girls — 
Was it a school? 



154 Cycle 

Friedrich. 

Perhaps. 

Elisabeth. 

And look at her. 
How old was this girl? 

Friedrich. 

I don't know. Fifteen. 

Elisabeth. 

She looks like Cousin Gretel. 

Rosa. 

[ Taking it from her husband^ 

Let me see. 

Elisabeth. 

What were they doing all alone like that, 
If it's not a school. And, father, look, 

please tell me, 
Why were their heads hung down? What 

made them turn 
Their faces ? Look at that one ! 

Rosa. 

[/k a low tone'] 

They were afraid. 



Cycle 155 

Friedrich. 

It was the sun. Here, let me have it, Rosa. 

{^Taking it and crushing it in his hand^ 
It's not worth keeping. 

Elisabeth. 

Father, please, I want it! 
The girl like Gretel — the pretty one ! 

Friedrich. 

It's torn. 
I'm sorry. 

Elisabeth. 

Perhaps she isn't torn. Please look. 
I want it, father ! 

Friedrich. 

Where are your manners gone? 
Your mother's spoiled you while I've been 
away. 

Elisabeth. 
I want it. 



156 Cycle 

Friedrich. 

Answer me, Elisabeth. 
Are you a Prussian, dear? — or something 
else ? 

Elisabeth. 

I'm Prussian, father. 

Friedrich. 

Be a Prussian, then. 
Obedience, dear, and self-control, it's these 
On which the state depends. And we look 

to you, 
You future citizens, to prove our faith 
And pride and justify our victory. 
How can you be a Prussian and not rule 
Yourself? 

Elisabeth. 

Pm sorry, father. I'll be good. 

Rosa. 

And do we always practise what we preach? 

Friedrich. 

I'm going out for half an hour. 



Elisabeth. 



Friedrich. 
Another time. 



Cycle 157 

Take me? 



Elisabeth. 

May I come to the door with you? 

Friedrich. 

[Throwing the crumpled photograph into 
the fireplace'^ 

Of course. 
[When they have gone, Rosa uncreases 
the picture and looks at it — and then away 
from it, her fingers closing on the frag- 
ments']^ 

Elisabeth. 

[Calling gaily from outside"] 
Mother! O mother, quick! 

Rosa. 

[Tearing the picture into smaller hits'] 

What is it, dear? 
[Appearing] 



158 Cycle 



Elisabeth. 






They were sending him away! Can't 


he 


come in? 






{^fFhisperinffl 






A funny foreigner with things 


to sell. 




Rosa. 






We don't need anything. 






Elisabeth. 






Mother, we 


might I 




Rosa. 








It's war-time. 



Elisabeth. 
O let him show them to us — for my birthday ! 
You said you'd buy me something for my 

birthday. 
We might find just the thing! 

Rosa. 

[Smiling, yielding^ 

Well, — if you like. 

Elisabeth. 

{^Turning, while her mother throws the 
tiny fragments hack into the fireplaceji 



Cycle 159 

Come in. Yes, mother says you may. In 
here. 
\^A little bearded Foreigner enters, dark 
and bent. His right arm is gone. Under 
his left he is carrying a red box, tied with 
rope^ 

Rosa. 

[Apologetically'] 
We may not buy from you. 

The Foreigner. 

[/« a low quaver, like that of an old 
priest] 

You need not buy. 
Rosa. 

Our money goes for war-work now, you 
know. 

The Foreigner. 

Beautiful things are what I love — not money. 
And if you do not take them, I still have 
them. 

Rosa. 

[As he unties the box] 
From Turkey? 



i6o Cycle 

The Foreigner. 

[Indicating his lost arni] 
From the war. 

Rosa. 

Poor man, I see. 

The Foreigner. 

If they'd not taken my heart, I'd have it still. 

[^Beating his breast dully'\ 
Isn't it strange, lady? — I have no heart! 

Rosa. 

It's taken all our hearts and broken them, 
This war. 

The Foreigner. 

They call it war. 

Elisabeth. 

[As the box opens^ 

O mother, seel 
Beautiful things! 

[She takes some of them out carefully'\ 



Cycle i6i 

The Foreigner. 

[/« a broken half-mad wait] 

All of them dead ! — dead ! 

Rosa. 

Don't, please. You frighten her. 

The Foreigner. 

\_Turntng toward the door, with soft 
cunning] 

IVe something here — 
Something to show her. 

\JVhile they examine his laces, he looks 
outside, then comes in and deftly locks the 
door, without their noticing] 

The Foreigner. 

Something here to show her. 
\^He lifts out all the laces in a heap and 
holds up to them, a long dark lock of 
hair] 

Rosa. 

\With an uneasy laugh] 
O no, no ! Not for us. 



I 62 Cycle 

The Foreigner. 

[Wailing again] 

Yes ! Yes ! For you ! 
This loveliest thing! This thing that was 
alive ! 
[To Elisabeth] 
Look at it ! Touch it ! 

Elisabeth. 
[Startled] 

No! 

Rosa. 

Please — not to her! 
Tell me. I'm older. I will understand. 
Go, Elsa, quick! 

The Foreigner. 

Why go? Are you so young? 
[Holding up the lock of hair] 
She was as young! 

Elisabeth. 

[Clinging to Rosa] 

O mother, I'm afraid! 



Cycle 163 

The Foreigner. 

She was afraid. They tore her from her 

mother, 
They tore her hands away, they whipped her 

hands. 
They gashed her mother's forehead with a 

gun. 
They cut her father's arm off, stabbed him 

down. 
They dragged her with the rest and watched 

her, watched her. 
Lest she bite open a vein in her wrist and 

die. 
As another girl had done. They watched 

her, watched her. 
They fed her milk and wine and made her 

eat. 
And then they came and tied her arms, they 

tied her. 
And gave her to the man who had chosen 

her . . . 
Two nights he had her; then they handed her 
To other men like him, then common men — 
And men and men, till she was sick and done 
And hideous and mad. And then they threw 

her. 



164 Cycle 

My daughter's murdered body, still alive, 
Into a well, into a deep cold well. 
"Nobody'll drink from there for a good 

long while, 
Nobody'll drink from there for a good 

long while" — 
That's what they said and left her, and she 

died 
And, ever since, I have tried to come to you, 

l^Slowly approaching them^ 
To come to you, to come and tell you this. 
What do you think now of the man you love ? 
What do you think of him? 

Rosa. 

Merciful God ! 
The Foreigner. 

I am a Syrian, come from Lebanon — 
From all those Syrian homes! 

Rosa. 

But not our fault! 
For God's sake, don't! I'll give you any- 
thing! 
{^Elisaheth beats at the door and screams 
wildly^ 



Cycle 165 

The Foreigner. 
[^Shoutinff^ 

What do I want but this ? Nothing but this ! 
\^Thr owing his revolver down and seizing 
ElisabetK] 

Then I can die. 

[He starts back, hearing heavy blows on 
the outside of the door. With the force 
of its breaking open, Elisabeth falls to 
the floor. Friedrich, entering, instantly 
thrusts his sword through the foreigner. 
Pausing only a second, Rosa, who has 
picked up the foreigner's revolver, shoots 
her husbandl 

Rosa. 

[Facing her daughter in terror and pity 
and hope'\ 

Elisabeth ! 

Elisabeth. 

[Slowly, with wide eyes'] 

Yes, mother. 

CURTAIN 



Iphigenia in Tauris 



To Isadora Duncan 

You exclaimed one day, "If only there ivere a simple 
English text of Iphigenia as human as the Greek, no 
rhymes, no in'versions, no loss of meaning in the sound! 
And nxihen I nvrote you this, you liked and used it. 
Therefore the blame or praise be partly yours. 



On the seashore stands a great Temple, with steps 
leading to a blood-stained altar. Iphigenia, the Priest- 
ess, comes out of the Temple. 

Iphigenia. 

Pelops, the son of Tantalus, by speed 

Of chariot earned a bride, who bore him Atreus. 

And Atreus had two sons, one Menelaus, 

The other Agamemnon, who in turn 

By Clytemnestra had a child, and I 

Am she, Iphigenia. 

It is thought 
That I was sacrificed by my own father 
To Artemis, in the great quest of Helen, 
Upon an altar near the bay of Aulis, 
There where the long deep waves are caught and 

broken 
Hither and thither by the winds. That bay 
Held Agamemnon's fleet, the thousand ships 
From Hellas, waiting to avenge on Troy 
The wrong done Menelaus by the loss 
Of Helen. But a storm came up and still 
169 



170 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Another storm, and neither sea nor wind 
Would favor Agamemnon. So he asked 
Calchas the soothsayer to consult the flame. 
And this is what was answered : " Agamemnon, 
Captain of Hellas, there can be no way 
Of setting free thy ships till Artemis 
■Has had fulfilled Her promised sacrifice. 
For thou hadst vowed to sacrifice each year 
The fairest thing the year produced. And due 
To Her long since was one whom Clytemnestra 
Bore thee, the fairest of the year, thy daughter 
Iphigenia . . . Let her be brought and killed." 

They sent Odysseus with his lying tongue 
To lure me from my mother, on the plea 
That I should wed Achilles. When I came 
To Aulis, they laid hold of me and led 
Me to the flame, and would have struck — I saw 
The knife! But Artemis deceived their eyes, 
Leaving a deer instead, and stole me through 
The radiant blue until She set me down 
Here in the town of Tauris, where there live 
Barbaric men ruled by their uncouth King, 
Thoas, a rider reckless as the wind. 
He made of me a priestess in Her Temple, 
And here I serve Her on Her festal days. 
It has a holy sound, that word, but far 
From holy are the rites I . . . Yet I dare 
Not question. Dumbly I must sacrifice 
To Her delight strangers who happen here. 



Iphigenia in Tauris 171 

It was their custom long before I came. 
My hands ordain the victim. Other hands, 
Inside the Inner Temple, drain his blood. 
Which then is poured upon this altar-stone. 

{She comes down the steps) 

I dreamed last night a deathly dream. Perhaps 
The morning will dispel it if I speak it. 
I dreamed myself at home again in Argos, 
Asleep among my maidens — when a roll 
Of thunder shook the ground. I ran outside. 
I watched the house. I saw the coping fall. 
Then the whole palace plunged from roof to base. 
Only one column stood untouched, of all 
My father's home. And that one stood alive, 
A man with bright brown hair and breathing lips. 
Then I began unwillingly to touch 
His brow with the water that means woe to 

strangers — 
And with the tears of my interpretation. 

Must it not mean Orestes? — Dead, dead! 
It was my brother whom I touched with tears. 
The pillar of a family is the son. 
And in those waters is the sign of death. 
, Let me then pour the funeral-cup, for him 
Who is too far away for nearer rites. 

{She goes up the steps again) 



172 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Come now, my maidens, my Hellenic maidens, 

captives of the king ! — Enslaved to serve 
The living, let us freely serve the dead. 

I must go in and pray, then call to them 
By the great summons of the Temple-bell. 

{She goes into the Temple) 

Orestes. 

{Cautiously following Py lades toward the Tem- 
ple) 

Take care lest someone should be coming by! 

Pylades. 

1 looked both ways and there is no one coming. 

Orestes. 

Is this the Shrine of Artemis, v^^hich wt 

Set out from Argos over many seas 

To find ? O Pylades ! — is this the Shrine ? 

Pylades. 

I think it is, Orestes. So dost thou. 

Orestes. 

Is that the stone, dark with the blood of Greeks? 

Pylades. 

If ever I saw blood — look, on the edge! 



Iphigenia in Tauris 173 > 

Orestes. 

And there beneath the roof, spoils of the dead! 

Pylades. 

Trophies of strangers whom these men have mur- 
dered. 

Orestes. 

Be careful how thou goest then — be watchful! 

Why has Thy oracle, O Phoebus, sent 

This thing upon me and the sight of blood 

Again? Have I not seen enough of blood? 

My mother shed my father's blood, I hers. 

And then the Furies, with their eyes bloody, 

Hunted me down, a wanderer through the world — 

Till fugitive I went to Thee, to pray 

An end of all the cycles of despair 

That sped me, maddened me, hurled me through 

Hellas. 
Thy answer came : " Go seek the Taurian land 
Where Artemis my Sister has Her Shrine. 
Discover there Her eflfigy that fell 
From Heaven into the Temple. Then by skill 
Or by good-fortune take it and proceed 
Surviving every hazard, and convey 
The Image to the holy land of Athens." 
No more was said, except that by this deed 
I was to be relieved of my afflictions . . . 



174 Iphigenia in Tauris 

And here I am, O Phoebus, far from home 
Upon this dismal shore — obeying Thee. 

Now, Pylades, companion of my task, 

What course are we to take? To scale these walls 

Would be impossible. Are we to climb 

The open stairs? — and so be seen? Are we 

To force the brazen locks, not knowing where 

They lead? For if they come upon us here, 

It will be certain death. Shall we not turn 

In time and take our ship? O, let me face 

The Furies, rather than inflict this thing 

On thee! 

Pylades. 

What do we know of flight? How dare 
We take a course of which our hearts know nothing? 
Why should we disobey Apollo's voice 
And offer Him dishonor? No! There must 
Be ways. Come, let us leave the Temple, hide 
Ourselves in some dark cave and shun the ship 
Lest it should be attacked and we be captured. 

Look! through that opening between the beams 
A man might lower himself inside the wall ! — 
A coward drops the cup. But a brave man's drink 
Is hardship. And by all the Gods shall we. 
Coming as far as this, now at the end turn back? 

Orestes. 

No. Thou art saying what I too should say. 



Iphigenia IN Tauris 175 

So let us go and find our hiding-place. 

Phoebus would never tolerate defeat 

Of His commandment. Come! Have we not 

youth ? — 
Add youth to courage, we can move the world. 

(They go out) 

(The great bell rings. One by one the Temple 
Maidens assemble) 

A Maiden. 

O ye who dwell upon these Clashing Rocks 

That guard the Euxine Sea, 
Keep silence now before Latona's Daughter, 
Artemis, Goddess of the pointed hills! 

(Turning toward the Altar) 

Artemis, I come 

On consecrated feet into Thy court, 

1 hail Thee beautiful 

In Thy gold dome above the colonnades! 

A Second Maiden. 

Thy priestess calls me, she who keeps Thy keys. 

Who left behind, for Thee, 
Her land of Hellas, the embattled walls. 
The shore of horses, and the quiet fields 



176 IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 

Wherein my father lived. 
I must obey her call and worship Thee 

In this embittered land 
Far from Eurotas and from happiness. 

A Third Maiden. 

(Going- to Iphigenia, who enters from the Tem- 
ple) 

daughter of the king that gathered ships 
A thousand strong and led 

Unnumbered men against high-towering Troy, 

1 heard thee call and I have come to thee. 
Why hast thou summoned us? 

What makes thy cheek so thoughtful and so pale? 

What has thy tongue to tell, 
That thy brow is dark and bowed upon thy hands? 

Iphigenia. 

My maidens, listen! Listen while I tell 

What I have seen. The Muse has hid Her face 

And I am mourning for a kinsman lost. 

Last night I had a dream of destiny. 

O weep with me ! — I saw my brother dead ! 

My dream was clear. My father's house is ended, 

My race broken and gone, Orestes dead ! 

What anguish, Argos, art thou made to bear 
When Fate pursues me still and takes from me 
My only brother ! — 



Iphigenia IN Tauris 177 

To the vanished dead 
Let me now pour this offering, this gift 
Upon the earth, commingled of the milk 
Of mountain-kine and of the wine of Bacchus 
And of the honey that the russet bees 
Gathered, — a soothing gift for him I loved. 
Give me the heavy urn of gold, to hold 
My offering to the God of Death. 

This urn, 
Orestes, son of Agamemnon, thou 
That liest dead beneath the earth, I bring 
And pour for thee. Better I cannot bring, 
I cannot bring to thee my heavy locks, 
I cannot lay them, weeping, on thy grave. 
And yet, though men believe me long since dead, 
I still can weep, far from my home and thee. 

A Fourth Maiden. 

O Lady, woe is in me for thy woe, 

My song is like the song 
Of old that mourners in the far-off east 
Chant for the dead, reciting only death, 

The very song of hell, 
A wail of no returning and no hope, 

Using no note of glory, 
Only the desolation of the grave. 

The First Maiden. 

Mourn for the sons of Atreus, in whose house 



178 Iphigenia in Tauris 

The hearth can never burn! 
Mourn for their bitter heritage, a home 
That waits the coming of some happy King 

But cannot give him v^^elcome! 
Trouble is born forever in their sky 

Since Phoebus turned His car 
Of toppling horses out of the course of joy. 

The Third Maiden. 

There was desired long since a golden lamb, 

And out of the dispute 
Mischief arose to tantalize thy house . . . 

The Fourth Maiden. 

Vengeance has made its unappeased way 

With every dart of death 
And visited thy family one by one, 

And now with eager hand 
Fate is pursuing thee. Thy turn has come. 

Iphigenia. 

O bitter my beginning in the womb 

Of her who bore me, from the very night 

That she conceived! Appointed by the Fates 

To suffer in this world, I was a child 

Accursed. Yet how she cherished me, her first-born, 

And thrilled that I, of all the girls of Argos, 

Should be a bride upon the way to Troy! 

What had she borne me for and loved me for ? — 



Iphigenia in Tauris 179 

To come to nothing, through my father's fault! 
To come, behind the horses of delight, 
Not to Achilles — but to grief and horror ! 

And now beside this melancholy sea 
I live my days — lonely, no love, no friends, 
Wife of no man and mother of no child. 
I know no home. I sing no Argive song 
"With Argive women to the Queen of Heaven. 
I weave upon the whirring loom no tale 
Of Pallas routing Titans . . . O, instead, 
I see an altar stained with bloody death. 
I hear the cry for pity and the moans 
Of men — a woe too hideous to be told. 

Yet even that is little to me now — 
Now that a throne is empty and his eyes 
Are past all weeping, as I wish mine were. 
For I who loved Orestes all those years 
Shall never see him now but as I left him, 
A little baby at his mother's breast — 
I who had thought to see him as a King. 

The Second Maiden. 

Look ! — from the beach a herdsman comes to thee, 
Comes like a man with news! 

Herdsman. 

(Arriving breathless) 
O daughter of the house of Agamemnon, 



l8o IPHIGENIA IN TauRIS 

I have a thing to tell! 

Iphigenia. 

Is it a thing 
To warrant this intrusion? 

Herdsman. 

Yes ... A ship 
From sea has rounded the Symplegades 
And in the mist two men have come ashore, 
Young, worthy to be offered on the altar! 
Make ready then the Feast of Artemis! 

Iphigenia. 
Where are they from?- — what country? Couldst 
thou tell? 

Herdsman. 

From Hellas, but I could not say what part. 

Iphigenia. 
What were their names? Thou must have heard 
their names! 

Herdsman. 

One of them called the other " Pylades." 

Iphigenia. 
And the one who spoke? 



Iphigenia in Tauris i8i 

Herdsman. 

We did not hear his name. 

Iphigenia. 

Where were they captured? 

Herdsman. 

Down beside the sea. 

Iphigenia. 

What were you herdsmen doing by the sea? 

Herdsman. 
Washing our cattle there. 

Iphigenia. 

But answer me, 
How were they captured? It is new to me 
And unbelievable. For all this time 
Has passed and never brought a Greek before 
To bleed in sacrifice — never a Greek. 

Herdsman. 

Just as we drove our cattle from the woods 

In that long hollow where the curling tide 

Has cut away the cliff, where fishers rest 

From purple-fishing, one of us ahead 

Came stealing back on tiptoe and he warned us: 

" They are not men but Gods ! Behind that rock ! — 



1 82 IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 

Not men but Gods ! " And then another herds- 
man, 
Caught sight of them, raised up his hands and 

prayed : 
" God in whose keeping are all ships, Palaemon ! — 
Have mercy on us, whether these be Sons 
Of Zeus or Brothers of the Fifty Nereids! " 
But another mocked our fear and laughed aloud, 
Daring the possible anger of the Gods. 
For he maintained there must have been a wreck 
And these were mariners who chose that cave 
To hide in, having heard that strangers here 
Are sacrificed. And he persuaded most 
Of us; and we were planning what to do 
To capture them — when one of them came out 
Into full view and, standing there a moment. 
Stared not at us nor anything we saw 
But straight above him, groaning, shuddering. 
And bent his head from one side to the other 
Behind his arms, like one delirious. 
And then cried out as sharply as a hunter: 
"Look, Pylades! O look at her! O look! 
There ! — there 1 Dost thou not see her now ? — 

that Fury 
From hell! Look at the serpent on her head 
With mouth wide open, writhing for my blood 
Another ! — and another ! Look at her 
High on the cliff, belching a flame at me 
And holding in her hands my mother's body 



Iphigenia IN Tauris 183 

Till she can hurl it down on me and kill me ! 
O they are all around me! Pylades!" 
And we could tell by the motion of his head 
When the dogs barked or when the cattle lowed 
That some invisible Fury mocking him 
Became to him in every sound a threat. 

In our amazement we were sitting there 
Like stricken men — when out he whipped his sword 
And, quick as a lion, leapt upon our herd 
As if attacking Furies there. He slashed 
Their sides with might and main until the rim 
Of the sea was rolling thick with gore. We saw 
Our herd wounded and dying and we looked 
For sticks to arm ourselves and blew our horns 
For help. And then when slowly we approached 

him — 
His madness left him. I can see him now 
Standing a moment. While I watch he drops 
In a heap and foaming at the lips. Our chance ! — 
Our chance! Forward we hurried with our 

cudgels 
And rocks. But still his comrade, unafraid, 
Leaned over him and wiped his lips and held 
A linen fold above his face protecting him — 
Till suddenly the fallen man stood up 
Calm and himself again and saw the rush 
Of stones that neared him like a breaking wave. 
He gave one groan as we surrounded him; 
And then we heard his voice ring clear and say: 



1 84 Iphigenia IN Tauris 

" Death, Pylades ! Then let us meet it well — 
Like men ! Out with thy sword and follow me ! " 
Back from the glittering swords we ran, to lure 
Them to the glen. For there when some of us 
Would run to shelter others could hurl rocks 
To draw the pursuers ofE and then could fly 
. And let the first come back again with stones. 
And yet the destined offering stood clean. 
For, strange as it may sound, of all the stones 
We volleyed at those men, not one went true! 
All we could hope for was to wear them out. 
So, working round them in a ring, we struck 
Their swords with stones, until they lost their hold 
And had no breath for the recovery. 

And then we took them captive to the King, 
Who ordered us to bring them here to thee 
To be prepared and bled for Artemis. 

Ask Artemis, O priestess, to direct 
Other such wanderers as these to Tauris! 
Let men from Hellas shed their blood for thine 
Which men from Hellas clamored for at Aulis! 

The First Maiden. 

This is no common man who came away 
From the land of Hellas to an alien shore 
And battled like a God ! 

Iphigenia. 

Go back and bring me the two mariners. 



Iphigenia IN Tauris 185 

I shall be ready for them with the rites. 

(Exit the Herdsman) 

Poor heart of mine, which in the days gone by 

Was tender and compassionate to strangers, 

And even yesterday grew pitiful 

At thought of men from Hellas coming here, 

A cruel dream has changed thee overnight. 

For since Orestes is no more alive, 

Now, where my heart was, there is only 

stone 
And you who come today, no matter who, 
Will find in me a woman without tears. 

Friends, by my own unhappiness I know 
That the experience of evil days 
Brings disregard for lesser sufferers. 

No heaven-sent wind has ever forced a ship 
Between the Clashing Rocks, bringing me Helen, 
That Helen whom I hate, and Menelaus, 
That I might make of them the sacrifice, 
Let a new Aulis expiate the old — 
And have my vengeance ! — It was Helen's fault 
And his, that Greek hands lifted me at Aulis 
And led me like a beast before the altar — 
Where he who held the knife was my own father. 

I live it all again. My hands groping, 
Go out to him again and touch his beard 



I 86 IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 

And cling about his knees. I cry to him: 
" O thou thyself, thyself, hast brought me here ! 
Thou hast deceived my maidens and my mother! 
They sing my marriage-song at home, they fill 
The house with happiness . . . and all the 

time 
Here am I dying — slain, father, by thee! 
Thou hast led me in thy chariot, to take 
Achilles for my lord. But here is death — 
And on my lips no kiss but only blood ! " 

And I had left my home with my white veil 
•Drawn down. I had not taken in my arms 
My brother, who is dead, nor kissed my sister. 
I had saved all my kisses and embraces 
For him I thought to marry . . . Yet my heart 
Was homesick even then and ached with hope 
That I should soon come back again to Argos. 

And thou art dead, Orestes, and thou too 
Foregoest our inheritance, our home! 

O what has Artemis desired of me? — 

She who forbids Her court to any man 

Whose hand is stained with bloodshed or with touch 

Of childbirth or of burial, calls him 

Unclean and bans him — She so scrupulous 

In all these things — will yet receive the blood 

Of human beings on Her altar-stone? 

It is not credible. Latona bore 

To Zeus no daughter so unkind! The thing 



Iphigenia IN Tauris 187 

Is no more true than are the tales they tell 

Of Tantalus preparing for the Gods 

A child whom They devoured . . . Artemis, 

These people being murderers themselves, 

Impute to Thee their own iniquity. — 

No ! — I will not believe it of a God ! 

The Second Maiden. 

Who can these be that left the holy streams 

Of Dirce, or the reeds 
Green-growing in Eurotas, to prefer 
This bitter beach, to dare the ominous rocks 

Where the seas meet in fog, 
Where Artemis, among Her colonnades 

Demanding sacrifice, 
Receives upon Her altars human blood? 

The Fourth Maiden. 

Why have they urged the oarsmen on their ship 

To shake the clinging sea 
With a great stroke, and to accelerate 
With rush of rivalry the racing wind? 

Was it to sweep the shores 
For riches and to vie in bearing home, 

Each to upbuild his house. 
The treasures and the trophies of the world? 

That glittering hope is immemorial 
And beckons many men 



IPHIGENIA IN TAUiaS 



To their undoing. Ever insatiate, 

They sail the sea and look to foreign towns 

To fill their ships with spoil. 
But some men never find prosperity, 

For all their voyaging; 
While others find it with no voyaging. 

The Third Maiden. 

How have they passed the peril of the rocks 

That clash? and of the beach 
Of Phineus heavy with broken waves? 
How have they turned their rudder to the land 

Where the Fifty Nereids 
Hand in hand dance and circle round and sing, 

Where the wings of ocean brood. 
And where Achilles rode by the dark water ? 

The First Maiden. 

My Lady prayed that Fate might hither bring. 

On the way home from Troy, 
The cause of her great misery. O would 
That Helen, Helen had been blown ashore, 

That on her fatal head. 
For recompense, the holy drops might fall 

And that my Lady's knife 
Might find in her the fitting sacrifice! 

The Second Maiden. 

But I have prayed for a deliverer, 



Iphigenia in Tauris 189 

Some mariner from Hellas 
Able to end our pain and set us free. 
Ever I go, though only in a dream, 

Back to my father's home . . . 
No man has greater riches than the joy 

That comes to us in visions — 
They cannot take away from us our dreams. 

The Third Maiden. 

Look w^here they come ! — two captives bound in 
chains! 
The herdsman's news was true! 
Hush for the offering to Artemis! 

The Second Maiden. 

See, Hellas, how thy hands are impotent* 
To change this ritual! 

The Fourth Maiden. 

O Artemis, if Tauris in Thy sight 

Win favor by this gift. 
Assert Thy custom and receive this blood! 

Iphigenia. 

Let me now think of none but Artemis 

And serve Her with the worship She demands. 

Loosen their hands. For in this holy court 

Chains are unhallowed things. Enter the Temple, 



190 IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 

Prepare the altar for the ritual. 

(Turning to the captives) 

I wonder who your mother was? — your father? — 

Whether you had a sister who has lost 

Her brothers and laments their bravery? — 

Invisible and mute, Fate comes and goes 

And never whispers where Her blow shall fall; 

None of us ever sees Her in the dark 

Or understands Her cruel mysteries. 

Tell me, unhappy men, where are you from ? — 

You who are far from home and yet must go 

Farther away from home even than this! 

Orestes. 

What woman art thou, weeping for our lot? 
,What can we mean to thee, to draw thy pity, 
To make our tribulation difficult? 

There is no wisdom in lamenting death 
And only fools, when they behold it near, 
Meet it with tears. The man who doubles death 
By the cowardice of pitying himself 
Earns for himself contempt as well as death . . . 
Let us accept our fortune as it comes — 
No pity and no tears ! We dared our fate. 
And what we undertook — we undertook. 

Iphigenia. 

One of your names was brought me by a herdsman. 






Iphigenia IN Tauris 191 

Tell me then, which of you is Pylades? 

Orestes. 

He, if it does thee any good to know. 



Iphigenia. 

And from what town in Hellas? 

Orestes. 

Does it matter? 

Iphigenia. 
And are you brothers? 

Orestes. 

In all else but birth. 

Iphigenia. 

And what may I call thee? 

Orestes. 

Unfortunate! 

Iphigenia. 

That would be pity's name for thee, not mine. 

Orestes. 

Then say I have no name and call me nothing. 



192 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Iphigenia. 
Art thou so jealous for thy reputation? ' 

Orestes. 

Come, sacrifice my body, not my name! 

Iphigenia. 
Thou wilt not even name for me thy town? 

Orestes. 

I am so soon a townsman of no town. 

Iphigenia. 

Surely it is not much to tell me that. 

Orestes. 

Ah, but it is — when one can answer, " Argos " 1 

Iphigenia. 
Argos? not Argos? thou art not from Argos? 

Orestes. 

My town, Mycenae, was a lordly place. 

Iphigenia. 

Then what could bring thee from it ? — banish- 
ment? 

Orestes. 

A kind of banishment — yet self-imposed. 



Iphigenia in Tauris 193 



Iphigenia. 

How fortunate to see a son of Argos! 

Orestes. 

But not to be one in thy company! 

Iphigenia. 
And let me ask about another town — 

Orestes. 
But why this questioning? 

Iphigenia. 

O tell me news 
Of that most talked-of town in all the world! 
What hast thou heard of Troy? 

Orestes. 

By all the Gods, 
I wish that I had never heard its name! 

Iphigenia. 

But is it true that Troy is overthrown? 

Orestes. 

Its towers lie broken in the dust. 

Iphigenia. 

And Helen? 
Has Menelaus taken Helen back? 



194 Iphigenia in Tauris 



Orestes. 

And soon repented. For she brings him sorrow. 

Iphigenia. 

She brought me sorrow too. Where is she now? 

Orestes. 

Gone back with him to Sparta. 

Iphigenia. 

How I hate 
The name of Helen! How all Hellas hates it! 

Orestes. 

I have my own good cause for hating it. 

Iphigenia. 

Did the Achteans return home contented? 

Orestes. 

It would take many tongues to answer that. 

Iphigenia. 

But tell me quickly, while there still is time! 

Orestes. 

Then ask me quickly. I will answer thee. 

Iphigenia. 

What of the soothsayer, Calchas? Where is he? 



Iphigenia in Tauris 195 

Orestes. 

Reported dead at home. 

Iphigenia. ' 

O Artemis, 
Hail for that news! And is Odysseus dead? 

Orestes. 

Neither at home nor dead — but wandering. 

Iphigenia. 

O how I pray he never reach his home! 

Orestes. 

Why wish him that? Has he not borne enough? 

Iphigenia. 

What of Achilles ? 

Orestes. 

Dead. His marriage planned 
At Aulis never happened. 

Iphigenia. 

Those who knew 
About that plan knew it a cruel lie. 

Orestes. 

Knowing these things, art thou thyself from Hellas? 



196 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Iphigenia. 

I was, but lost my home long, long ago. 



Orestes. 

No wonder thou art asking me these questions! 

Iphigenia. 

What of that king they called The Happy King? 

Orestes. 

The one I think thou meanest was not happy. 

Iphigenia. 

I ask of Agamemnon. 

Orestes. 

I know nothing, 
Nothing of him. O ask me no more questions! 

Iphigenia. 

But no news must be good news! Say it is! 

Orestes. 

The news is death — his and another's death. 

Iphigenia. 

O Agamemnon ! O King Agamemnon ! 

Orestes. 

Could he be kin to thee, thou carest so? 



Iphigenia IN Tauris 197 

Iphigenia. 

Remembering his glory and his pride! 

Orestes. 

All of it ended by his own wife's hand. 

Iphigenia. 

O ! — Pitiable woman ! Poor, poor king ! 

Orestes. 

Ask me no more, I beg, not one word more! 

Iphigenia. 

But is she living? Answer me but that! 

Orestes. 

Her own son killed her. 

Iphigenia. 

Why? 

Orestes. 

To be avenged 
On her who killed his father. 

Iphigenia. 

How exact 
He was, how just! Yet how I pity him! 



198 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Orestes. 

And well thou mayest. No God pities him. 

Iphigenia. 

Not one of Agamemnon's children left? 

Orestes. 

Electra, yes. But loses him she loves! 

Iphigenia. 

What has been said of her they sacrificed? 

Orestes. 

Nothing of her, except that she is dead. 

Iphigenia. 

O miserable king, willing to slay her! 

Orestes. 

O wicked Vv^ar caused by a wicked woman. 
And all the waste and wicked consequence! 

Iphigenia. 

The son of the dead king — alive in Argos ? 

Orestes. 

Living, but not in Argos, not in Argos ! 

Iphigenia. 

My dream was nothing then, it lied to me! 



Iphigenia in Tauris 199 

Orestes. 

Dreams, lies, lies, dreams, — nothing but emptiness! 
Even the Gods with all Their name for wisdom 
Have only dreams and lies and lose Their course, 
Blinded, confused and ignorant as we. 

The wisest man is he who goes his way 
And listens to no prophet guiding him. 
The fool is he who' follows oracles, 
Forsaking his own judgment. Those who know 
Know such a man can only come to wreck. 

The Second Maiden. 

O who will bring us news whether our kin 
Are living or are dead ! 

Iphigenia. 
Let me suggest a plan that I have thought of. 
To our advantage, yours as well as mine. 
And nothing makes more surely for achievement 
Than interests in common. Tell me this . . , 
Wilt thou go back, if I can grant thee leave. 
Bearing for me to Argos and my friends 
A letter that has been prepared for them? 
My words were written down by one who died 
Here at my ritual but pitied me, 
Blaming his blood on Artemis, not me. 
No one had come from Hellas, not one Greek, 
Whose life might be conceded to bear home 
My message. But in thee I find a man 
Worthy to carry it, knowing the names 



200 Iphigenia in Tauris 

And places dear to me. And so I ask 
Thy help and offer in exchange thy life — 
With one condition: that thy friend remain, 
To pay the sacrifice to Artemis. 

Orestes. 

I thank thee, Lady, for a fair proposal. 

Save in that one respect. What would my life 

Be worth to me, earned by deserting him? 

I am the captain of this misadventure, 

And he but sailed with me to comfort me. 

It would be wrong if he should pay the cost 

And I repudiate my enterprise. 

Thy errand shall be done — but not by me. 

Give him thy confidence, give him thy letter. 

To thee it makes no difference which of us 

Carries the message homeward. And to me 

It makes no difference when I die or how. 

But if I brought disaster on a friend 

And yet myself went free, then there would be 

No faith left in me, no respect, no love. 

Besides, his life is dear to me as mine. 

His life is mine. For in his life — I live. 

Iphigenia. 

Thou hast a heart of gold and must be sprung 
From some great seed, to be so true a friend. . . 
If only the survivor of my race 
May be like thee! I have a brother left, 



IpHIGENIA in TaURIS 20I 

Although I should not know him by his face. 
As thou hast chosen then, so let it be. 
Thy friend shall take the letter — and thou prove 
Thy love by laying down thy life for him. 

Orestes. 

Whose is the hand that sacrifices me? 

Iphigenia. 

Whose hand but mine! Artemis willed it so. 

Orestes. 

Thy hand! Thy poor, unenviable hand! 

Iphigenia. 

WTiat is imposed on me I must obey. 

Orestes. 
A woman hold the knife to shed men's blood! 

Iphigenia. 

Not that ! — O not the knife ! — Only the water, 
The sacrificial water for thy brow. 

Orestes. 

Who is it then that strikes the final blow ? 

Iphigenia. 

Inside the Shrine are men who do that part. 



202 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Orestes. 

When I am burnt, what happens to my body? 

Iphigenia. 
They seal the ashes in a rocky cleft. 

Orestes. 

that my sister's hand might tend my body! 

Iphigenia. 
She is too far away from thee to hear 
Petition for the gift she cannot give. . . . 
Being from Argos, let me care for thee, 
Let me do everything that she might do! 

1 will array thy body in rich robes — 
Then pour upon the embers yellow oil 
Cooling and clean and the golden essences 
That bees collect from every mountain-flower. 
To make thee pure and sweet. . . . 

Now I must go 
And bring my letter. I have kept it here 
So long a while. — O think of me with pity. 

See that you guard these men, but do not bind them. 

O if at last my letter should arrive 

In Argos and be opened by the hand 

Of him I love, a letter never dreamed-of, 

Then he would listen through the opening grave 

And hear my living lips cry out to him! 



IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 203 

(She goes into the Temple) 

The First Maiden. 

I pity thee upon whose fated head 
The water shall be sprinkled! 

Orestes. 

But choose not pity. Change it into hope. 

The Second Maiden. 

Let me then hope, but not for thee, for him, 

That he may come again 
Into his father's country and be blest. 

Pylades. 

But how can he be blest who leaves his friend? 

The First Maiden. 

Or I hold back my pity for thy death? 

The Fourth Maiden. 

And yet I pity thee, having to live. 

The Third Maiden. 
Which is unhappier? 

The Fourth Maiden. 

I cannot tell, — I watch and cannot tell 
Whether to pity thee, or thee, the more. 



204 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Orestes. 

O Pylades, what art thou thinking of? 

Pylades. 
What dost thou think that I am thinking of ? 

Orestes. 

This woman! Thou rememberest her questions, 

Each one so apt; of the defeat of Troy, 

Of the Achaeans' homecoming, of Calchas, 

Of Achilles, and her great concern 

At Agamemnon's death and then her questions 

About his wife and children? I believe 

That she herself, she too, belongs in Argos ! — 

Or she would never send a letter there 

And make all these inquiries anxiously 

As if the fate of Argos were her own. 

Pylades. 

Thou hast expressed what I was wondering. 

And yet I thought it natural enough 

That in a city at all civilized 

People should ask about the fate of kings . . . 

But that was not what troubled me, so much as — 

Orestes. 

As what? Tell me and let me help thee solve it. 

Pylades. 

How canst thou wrong me, thinking I would live 



Iphigenia in Tauris 205 

And let thee die? As I set out with thee 

So shall I journey with thee to the end, 

Or I should never show my face again 

Among the hills of Argos, but to be 

Despised and pointed out in every valley 

As one who had betrayed a friend. And worse 

Than that would be declared of me, the worst 

That evil minds can conjure and enjoy — 

Even ::hat I had wished thy death, or caused it, 

That I might profit by inheritance 

And, being thy sister's husband, win thy throne. 

See how afraid I am and how ashamed 
Of the very thought of leaving thee. One way, 
And only one is open. Where thou goest. 
Though to the knife and to the flame, I fol- 
low — 
That I may be beyond a doubt thy friend. 

Orestes. 

Thou canst not be my friend and yet deny me. 

I bear a load that cannot be laid down, 

And wilt thou lighten thine by doubling mine? 

All the humiliating shame that thou 

But fearest from men's tongues would fall to me 

In my own heart from my own conduct, if I let 

The services thou didst me bring thee harm. 

What has Fate left me of my life to cherish 
But a good ending? As for thee, my friend, 
Thou hast not any right to choose to die. 



2o6 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Thou hast the blessing of thy happy blood 

To make thee wish to live. And so I pray 

That by thy life a comfort may be brought 

To my afflicted house. O Pylades, 

When thou art home, there with thy wife, my sister, 

Beget for me, dear friend, my happiness. 

Let my name live again and in thy children 

The house of Agamemnon be renewed. 

Therefore go back and make my home thy home. 

And having come to Hellas and the shore 

Where the Argive horsemen ride — give me thy 

hand 
And swear that thou wilt make a grave for me 
And lay on it memorials and let 
My sister bring, remembering me, a lock 
Of her long hair. Tell her that I was led 
Before the altar by the hand of one 
Who came from Argos, by a woman's hand, 
And how my blood at last was purified. 
O Pylades, be good to her, be true! 
And fare thee well, my best and truest friend, 
Loved in my boyhood when I shared my sport 
Over the hills with thee and in my manhood 
When my sorrows came and thou wert with me still ! 

By falsely prophesying, Phoebus lied 
To me and tricked me ; luring me away 
From home, lest watchful eyes in Hellas see 
That Gods, like men, can break Their promises. 



Iphigenia in Tauris 207 

I gave Him everything, my faith, my vi^ill, 

I killed my mother for He bade me strike . . . 

And in return He has forsaken me. 

Pylades. 

Let me obey then not myself but thee — 
And build thy tomb in Hellas. Be assured 
That I shall love thy sister well and always. 
And having loved thee living, I shall know 
How to receive thee closer in thy death . . . 
If death it be. We marvel at the Gods 
And their mysterious way of keeping hid 
The face of life behind a mask of death, 
Then showing the true face. 

Orestes. 

The time is gone 
For the Gods to show that face — for she has come. 

Iphigenia. 

(Returning and addressing the Attendants) 

Precede me into the Temple and be ready. 

{The Attendants enter the Temple) 

Here is my letter, all this length of it . . , 
Yet I have wondered. When a man arrives 



2o8 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Out of his danger, he forgets his fear 
And sometimes he forgets his promises. 
Wherefore my apprehension lest thy friend, 
When he is freed and on his way again, 
Forget how much this letter means to me. 

Orestes. 

And what dost thou propose, to ease thy mind? 

Iphigenia. 

That he shall swear to take this where I say. 

Orestes. 

And wilt thou make an oath matching his oath? 

Iphigenia. 

To do what, or undo what? 

Orestes. 

To obtain 
Safe quittance for him from this wretched place. 

Iphigenia. 

What would his oath be good for, lacking mine? 

Orestes. 

But will the King of Tauris let him sail? 

Iphigenia. 

I can persuade the King and will myself 
Go to the ship and put thy friend aboard. 



Iphigenia in Tauris 209 

Orestes. 

Then state the oath that thou wilt have him swear. 

Iphigenia. 

Promise to give this letter to my friend. 

Pylades. 

I swear to give this letter to thy friend. 

Iphigenia. 

And I to give thee safeguard from this place. 

Pylades. 

Thou swearest by what name? 

Iphigenia. 

By Artemis, 
Whose favor be upon me in Her temple! 

Pylades. 

And I by Zeus Himself, by Heaven's King. 

Iphigenia. 
And if thou failest to fulfill thy oath? 

Pylades. 

Then may I never see Argos again ! — 
And if thou failest in fulfilling thine? 



2IO Iphigenia in Tauris 

Iphigenia. 

Then let me fail ever to come to Argos. 

Pylades. 
There is one chance that we have not considered. 

Iphigenia. 

A chance, thou meanest, that affects thy word? 

Pylades. 

The oath would not be fair if it should happen 
That in a storm the vessel should be wrecked 
Or strike a rock and everything go down 
And yet my life be saved — and not the letter. 
In that event I ask to be exempted. 

Iphigenia. 

In any plan, two ways make one way sure . . . 

Then let me tell thee carefully word by word 

The contents of my letter, thou in turn 

To tell it to my friend. And that insures us. 

For either thou shalt place it in his hand 

And let the silent writing speak or else 

The writing, lost, shall echo still in thee. 

Pylades. 
That will be safer both for thee and me. 
So tell me whom to find for thee in Argos 
And what to say to him. 



Iphigenia in Tauris 2 I I 

Iphigenia. 

Say this to him, 
Say to Orestes, son of Agamemnon, 
A greeting comes from one he thought was dead. 
Tell him his sister is not dead at Aulis 
But is alive. 

Orestes. 

Alive? Iphigenia? 
O no ! — Unless the dead come back again ! 

Iphigenia. 

Thou art beholding her, for I am she. 
But let me finish vi^hat I ask of him: 
" O brother, rescue me ! Let me not live 
The priestess of a loathly ritual ! — 
Let me not die forlorn, in a wild land ! " 

Orestes. 

Where am I, Pylades? What am I hearing? 

Iphigenia. 

" Lest thou, remembering me, shalt have no 

peace! " — 
The name, thou must repeat it, is Orestes. 

Pylades. 
Ye Gods! 



212 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Iphigenia. 

Not Gods but a woman speaks to thee. 

Pylades. 

It seemed I heard the Gods — and yet heard thee ! 
O let me listen further and make sure! 

Iphigenia. 

Tell him that Artemis put out Her hand 
And spared my life at Aulis, leaving a deer 
To bleed for me instead, and that my father, 
Not looking when he struck, thought he slew me. 
Artemis brought me here. . . . The letter ends. 

Pylades. ' 

what an easy oath it is to keep! 

Lady, keep thine or not — I keep mine now. 

1 bring thee this, Orestes, from thy sister. 

Orestes. 

How can I look at letters ? — Come to me ! 
O let me look at thee whom I had lost ! — 
O let me touch thee with my hands and prove 
That thou art real and hold thee close, close! 

The Third Maiden. 

Lay not thy hands, no matter who thou art, 

Upon those holy robes ! — 
Bring not indignity to Artemis! 



Iphigenia IN Tauris 213 

Orestes. 
Thou art my sister, my own father's daughter, 
And nature will not let thee turn away 
From thy own brother given back to thee. 

Iphigenia. 

Ah, thou wouldst make me think that thou art he ! — 
Orestes is in Argos and not here. 

Orestes. 

No, my poor sister, not in Argos ! — here ! 

Iphigenia. 

Then was Tyndareus thy mother's father? 

Orestes. 

Yes, and my father's grandfather was Pelops. 

Iphigenia. 

What art thou saying? How can I believe thee? 

Orestes. 

By asking me about our father's home. 

Iphigenia. 

Then speak of it ! — for I am listening ! — speak ! 

Orestes. 

Electra used to tell us tales of Atreus 

And of Thyestes, how they came to quarrel. 



214 Iphigenia IN Tauris 

Iphigenia. 

It was about a golden lamb they quarreled! 

Orestes. 

And thy hands made, with fine embroideries, 
A pattern of the quarrel. 

Iphigenia. 

Art thou he? 
Art thou in truth my brother? — art thou he? 

Orestes. 

There was a picture, on thy loom, of Phoebus 
Changing His course. Hast thou forgotten that? 

Iphigenia. 

O not one thread of it have I forgotten ! 

Orestes. 

There was a bath of bridal fragrances 

Thy mother sent to Aulis. — Thou rememberest? 

Iphigenia. 

Everything on that day I can remember — 
But happiness. 

Orestes. 

A lock of hair that came, 
Sent to thy mother. 



Iphigenia IN Tauris 215 

Iphigenia. 

A memorial 
I meant it for, commemorating me — 
To mark a grave where I could never lie. 

Orestes. 

And I recall a keepsake in thy room, 

The ancient spear that Pelops once had used 

To win his bride. 

Iphigenia. 

Orestes, O my brother! 
My home has come to me from far away! 
For thou art come, I have thee in my arms 1 

Orestes. 

And I have thee in mine, whom I thought dead! 
No wonder that the tears are in our eyes ! — 
Of joy, not sorrow ! — yet of sorrow too ! 

Iphigenia. 
Thou wert a baby, when I came away, 
Lifted to see me. And thy little arms 
Held out to me are come to me again. 
Grown strong to comfort me. How can I speak 
My joy! There is no language sweet enough! 
There is no joy like this. There never was! 

The Fourth Maiden. 

And would that we might say it need not end ! 



2i6 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Iphigenia. 

I am bewildered. And I cannot think 

What I should say, my friends ? — I cannot think 

Of anything but joy — except a fear 

That he might vanish as he came. O Argos, 

Land of my love, my heart is full of thee, 

And of my brother thou hast borne and bred 

To be a living glory to thy name! 

Orestes. 

We who were born to happiness have lived 
And learned unhappiness. 

Iphigenia. 

Unhappiness? — 

how I learned it when against my throat 
My own unhappy father held the knife! 

Orestes. 

1 have a vision of his stricken face. 

Iphigenia. 

And the false marriage, when the marriage-hymn 
Was made of tears! Not to Achilles' arms 
I went, but to the coldness of the altar — 
And felt the bitter waters on my head. 

Orestes. 

Unhappy daughter and unhappy father! 



Iphigenia IN Tauris 217 

Iphigenia. 

But why have pity on a pitiless man 
Who brought me all this grief? 

Orestes. 

And might have brought 
On thee to-day — the slaying of thy brother! 

Iphigenia. 

Some God prevented. But I came so near, 
My hand was so impending on the deed, 
That I am shaken with the thought of thee — 
Dead! . . . 

We have seen today a miracle 
Begin. How shall it end for thee and me? 
How shall I speed thee safely from this place 
Of horror home again? For there are swords 
To face: a question fitter for thy wit 
To weigh than mine, though thou art shaken too. 
Shouldst thou be safer travelling by foot 
Than by the ship ? No, no ! — I see thee go 
Losing thy way among barbarians 
Ashore, encompassed by a thousand deaths. 
The ship is better — even that sharp return 
Between the Clashing Rocks. Go ! — dare the sea, 
Take to the ship again! And yet who knows 
If God or man shall guide thee on the sea 
To liberation ? — or if any chance 
Can save thee now to make our home a glory? 



21 8 Iphigenia IN Tauris 

The Third Maiden. 

I have heard marvellous tales from story-tellers, 

But nothing to compare 
With this event which my own eyes have seen. 

Pylades. 

Orestes, it is natural for thee 

To greet thy sister and recount with her 

The happenings of thy house. But there are things 

Of urgency to think of: our escape 

Out of this land and how to compass it. 

For he is wise who makes a friend of Fortune 

And goes to meet her when she comes to him. 

Orestes. 

Well said ! — and let her be well met to-day ! — 
For every God helps him who helps himself. 

Iphigenia. 

But he shall tell me first about my sister, 
About Electra ! — Tell me of my sister ! 

Orestes. 

This is her husband. He has made her happy. 

Iphigenia. 
This man? — But who — 

Orestes. 

A Phocian. Strophius' son. 



Iphigenia IN Tauris 219 

Iphigenia. 

Then he is Atreus' grandson ! — Our own house ! 

Orestes. 

Thy cousin; my one friend. 

Iphigenia. 

As yet unborn 
That day I came away to die! 

Orestes. 
The son 
Of Strophius in old age. 

Iphigenia. 

I welcome thee, 
My sister's husband. 

Orestes. 

Closer to me than brother. 

Iphigenia. 

But O our mother? — for thou hast not told me — 

Orestes. 
Let us not speak of her ! — she killed my father. 

Iphigenia. 

Thou hast not told me why. 



220 IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 

Orestes. 

Then do not ask me. 

Iphigenia. 

May I not ask if thou art King of Argos? 

Orestes. 

Not King but exile. Menelaus is King. 

Iphigenia. 

What ? — in thy time of grief he banished thee ? 

Orestes. 

Not he but Furies — the avenging Fiends ! 

Iphigenia. 

Thy madness on the beach — it was the Fiends ? 

Orestes. 

Yes, yes! One seeing me might think me mad. 

Iphigenia. 

And they pursue thee for thy mother's death? 

Orestes. 

To catch me and to curb me with her blood! 

Iphigenia. 

Thy coming here? 



IpHIGENIA IN TaURIS 22 1 

Orestes. 

An oracle of Phoebus. 

Iphigenia. 

Which I may know about? 

Orestes. 

O let me tell 
My bitter narrative from end to end . . . 

After this poor hand had unspeakably 
Punished my mother's most unspeakable guilt, 
Down on my head they came attacking me, 
The Fiends from Hell. Then Phoebus ordered me 
To Athens, that I might protest their judgment 
At the Tribunal Zeus had sanctified 
To the trial of Ares for some ancient sin. 

When I arrived there, none of all my friends 
Received me. They avoided me at first 
As one unclean. Later they pitied me 
And gave me food in the same room with them, 
But at a separate table. And they served me 
An equal measure with themselves and filled 
My cup when theirs were filled, but turned 
Away and would not look at me nor speak 
With me — because I was a murderer. . . , 
And I showed no resentment but in silence. 
As though I did not care, I thought of her 
Whom I had killed and drank my bitter cup. 

They say that the Athenians memorize 



222 IpHIGENIA IN TaURIS 

My sorrow with a feast, the Pitcher Feast, 
In which each man drinks his own cup in si- 
lence. ... 

When I had come to judgment on that hill, 
I on one side and on the other side 
The eldest of the Avengers charging me 
With murder, PhcEbus rose to my defence 
And by His eloquence redeemed my life. 
For Pallas, in the chair, finding the votes 
Cast evenly, for and against me, added 
Her own vote for me and acquitted me. 

Some of the Furies acquiesced and chose 
To infest a Temple close to the Tribunal. 
Others defied the verdict as unjust 
And turned on me again, tormenting me. 
Till I fled back to Phoebus for His aid, 
Fell down before the Shrine, faint with despair. 
And swore to take my life — unless the God 
Who had confounded me would rescue me. 

And then out pealed His voice, His golden voice 
Above the tripod, telling me to go 
Among the Taurians, to take away 
Their Artemis of stone carven in Heaven 
And to establish it and worship it 
In Athens. 

Help me now to do this thing! 
O help me, sister, to obey the God 
And carry out His mission ! Help me, sister ! — 
If only I may take within my hands 



Iphigenia in Tauris 223 

The image of the Goddess, I am rid 

Of madness! And I urge thee with a gift 

Of rugged rowers rowing thee back to Argos! 

sister, sister, for our father's house 

1 beg thy aid, to save that house and me! 
Unless we take the Image with thy help. 
This very day shall see our house destroyed. 

The Fourth Maiden. 

Some God is visiting ancestral sin 
Upon new generations. 

Iphigenia. 

How long, before thy coming, had I dreamed 

Of thee and of my country! How I wish 

With thee the restoration of our house — 

Even his house who would have slain me! Brother, 

My heart has melted in our misery. 

I have no anger left, but only thought 

Of thee escaping and our house revived. 

What can I do? — how hide from Artemis? — 
And how put off the King when he perceives 
But empty air upon the pedestal? 
I am afraid — no, not of death itself 
But of the interim, the dying hope. . . . 
If we might take the Image and be quick 
And flee together on thy leaping ship ! — 
But we should fail. Yet if I stay to hide 
Thy flight, when the discovery is made 



224 



Iphigenia in Tauris 



— The ravished Image ! — Ah but death is good 
If by my dying thou returnest home . . . 
If a man die — a house, a name, is lost. 
But if a woman die — what does it matter? 

Orestes. 

It mattered when my mother died. If now 
Thy death were added, I should have to take 
Two deaths upon my head. Instead of that, 
Let come what may, I mean to share thy fate — 
Alive in Greece, or here beside thee dead. 

But it is evident the Gods are with us. 
If Artemis opposed, should I have been 
Expressly sent by Her own Brother here 
To bring Her Image back? She wishes it — 
For in the very Temple of the Image 
As a good omen I have seen thy face! 
O what does all this mean but our return? 

Iphigenia, 

How can we steal the Image and not die? 

Orestes. 

Can we not kill the King? 



Iphigenia. 

And dare the Gods 
Again ? — for he was kind to me. 



Iphigenia in Tauris 225 

Orestes. 
And yet 
It might be dared — if it would save our lives ! 

Iphigenia. 

I like thy boldness. But it cannot be. 

Orestes. 

Shall I stay hidden in the shrine till dark? 

Iphigenia. 

And then at night escape? 

Orestes. 

Are we not thieves? 
The day for honest men, the night for thieves ! 

Iphigenia. 

We could not pass the guards. 

Orestes. 

What can we do then ? 

Iphigenia. 
Perhaps we — 

Orestes. 
What? 



226 



Iphigenia in Tauris 



Iphigenia. 

May use our own misfortune! 

Orestes. 
Women have ways of changing ill to good. 

Iphigenia, 

I shall announce thee as a matricide! . . . 

Orestes. 

If there is good in that, make use of it! 

Iphigenia. 
As one unworthy to be sacrificed ! 

Orestes. 

Thou meanest ? — ah but I can guess ! 

Iphigenia. 
Unclean, 
Unpurified and unacceptable! 

Orestes. 

But how does that attain our purpose? 



Iphigenia. 
Pure 

Sea-water must be used to cleanse thy sin! 



IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 227 

Orestes. 

But that would mean the Image left behind 
And all our labor unfulfilled. 

Iphigenia. 
She too, 
Having been touched by thy approach, must be 
Washed clean, the Image too! 

Orestes. 

And might it be — 
There, by the inlet — ? 

Iphigenia. 

Where thy ship is moored. 

Orestes. 
And who will bring the Image? — none but thee? 

Iphigenia. 

For none may ever carry it but me. 

Orestes. 

And Pylades ? — is he a murderer too ? 

Iphigenia. 

He aided thee. He also must be cleansed. 

Orestes. 

A story for the guards — but for the King? 



228 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Iphigenia. 

In any case I could not keep it from him. 
So he shall hear it and shall be persuaded. 

Orestes. 

The oarsmen shall be ready for their orders, 
But here ashore thine is the sole command. 

Yet let me ask one question. Will these women 
Be true to thee and not betray thee? Pray 
For their assistance. Urge them and convince them. 
Thou, as a woman, knowest woman well. 
Then use the power of thy need of pity . . . 
And, after that, let Heaven's high will be done! 

Iphigenia. 

friends who have been near and dear to me, 

1 trust you! On you depends my destiny. 
Whether I keep or lose my home, my kin. 
Woman to women, I appeal to you. 

For, knowing our own weakness, we are bound 
To feel a woman's need and to defend 
Our sex and to be loyal. Will you not 
Be silent now for my sake? This is all. 
Yes, all I ask of you, — only your silence. 
By honoring us, do yourselves honor too! 

See how a single chance is left us three! . . . 
Discovery means death. Escape means home! 

If I escape, shall I not work for you 
Till I deliver you ? — till thou and thou 



Iphigenia in Tauris 229 

Shall join me in my joy at home in Hellas — 
And thou and thou ! I pray thee by thy hand ; 
Thee by thy cheek ; thy knees ; thee by thy home ; 
Thy father and thy mother; thee, thyself 
A mother with a child away from thee, 
I pray thee by that child : — be merciful ! 

O which of you consent? — and which refuse, 
When to refuse us means betraying us? 

The First Maiden. 

count upon us, Lady, on our love — 
And go thy way content! 

By Zeus we swear unbroken loyalty. 

Iphigenia. 

1 bless you for those words. I wish you joy. 

(To Orestes and Pylades) 

Now do thy part — and thine. Enter the 
Temple. 
The King will soon be here to make inquiry 
Whether the strangers have been sacrificed. 

(Orestes and Pylades go into the Temple) 

Grim Goddess, having saved me once before, 
Now save me with my brother and his friend, 
Lest Phoebus be disproved because of Thee 



230 



Iphigenia in Tauris 



And men forsake His oracle! O come 

In gracious might away from this bleak place, 

Away from gloom — to Athens and to glory ! 

(She follows into the Temple) 



The Second Maiden. 

sad-voiced ocean-bird, heard in the foam 
Low by the rocky ledge 

Singing a note unhappy hearts can hear, 
The song of separation from thy mate, 
The moan of separation, 

1 have no wings to seek like thee, but I 
Can sing a song like thee, 

A song of separation from my mates. 

At home in Hellas now are gathering 

My kinsmen. Artemis 
Blesses the new-born from Her Cynthian hill 
And soothes the mothers with the cooling palm 

And bay and olive-tree. 
Where once Latona loved the winding streams 

And watched the rounded pools 
White with the song-like motion of the swans. 

Alas! the falling tears, the towers fallen, 

The taking of our towns! 
Alas! the clash of bright and angry spears 
That captured me aboard an alien ship ! — 



Iphigenia in Tauris 231 

Whence I was sold away 
To be an exile here, a handmaiden 

With Agamemnon's daughter, 
Doomed to the bloody rites of Artemis. 

The Fourth Maiden. 

And at these altars where the sacrifice 

Is not of sheep but men, 
I envy those unhappy from their birth; 
For to be bred and seasoned in misfortune 

Is to be iron to it. . . . 
O there is something in the pang of change 

More than the heart can bear — 
Unhappily remembering happiness. 

The First Maiden. 

Lady, a ship is here to take thee home, 

And in the rowers' ears 
Pan shall be sounding all his pointed notes, 
Great mountains echoing to his little reed. 

And Phoebus on his lyre 
Shall strike profound the seven strings and sing 

To thee of Attica, 
Shall sing to thee of home and lead thee there. 

Oar after oar shall dip and carry thee, 

Lady, away from me. 
Oar after oar shall push the empty sea 
Wider, wider, leaving me lonely here. 



232 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Leaving me here without thee. 
And forward over the unceasing bow 

Thy sail shall faster run, 
Ever refilling with the unspent wind. 

The Second Maiden. 

to go swiftly like the winged sun 
Upon his dazzling track 

And not to let my golden light be folded 
Until I touched my house, my roof, my room! 

Then I should go again 
To noble marriages and take my place 

In the bright company. 
Give them my hands and circle round and dance. 

And I should strive to be the loveliest 

In all my looks and ways, 
In my unrivalled brightness of attire 
And in the motion of my hands and feet; 

And my embroidered veil 

1 should hold closely round me as I danced 
And I should hide my cheek 

In the soft shadow of my clustering curls. 

(Enter King Thoas with Soldiers) 

Thoas. 

Where is the keeper of the Temple-gates, 
The maid of Hellas? Is her labor done? — 



Iphigenia in Tauris 233 

Are the victims' bodies burning in the shrine? 

A Maiden. 

See where she comes, to answer thee herself. 

(Iphigenia comes out of the Temple, carrying 
the Image) 



Thoas. 

What does this mean, daughter of Agamemnon? 
Why hast thou brought the Image from its place? 

Iphigenia. 

King, stand back! — stand back beyond the 

threshold ! 

Thoas. 

Is it some new observance in the Temple? 

Iphigenia. 

Stay back, I tell thee, from Her holy presence! 

Thoas. 

1 will stay back, but tell me, tell me why 
Thou bearest Her like this. 

Iphigenia. 

The sacrifice 
Thou gavest to the Goddess was unclean. 



234 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Thoas. 

How dost thou know? — what makes thee think — 

Iphigenia. 

She turned 
Away from them, — away when they approached. 

Thoas. 

Might it not be some tremor of the ground 
That moved Her. 

Iphigenia. 

No. By Her own will She moved — 
And even for a moment shut Her eyes. 

Thoas. 

Because of blood upon the strangers' hands? 

Iphigenia. 

It was Her divination of their guilt. 

Thoas. 

Whose blood ? A Taurian's blood ? — killed on the 
beach ? 

Iphigenia. 

The guilt was with them when they came; the stain 
Of killing their own kin! 



IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 235 

Thoas. 

Their kin? What kin? 

Iphigenia. 

A mother ! — whom they murdered in cold blood ! 

Thoas. 

O great Apollo, what barbarian 

Would do the thing these Greeks have done? 

Iphigenia. 

But Greeks 
Disowned and homeless, hunted out of Hellas. 

Thoas. 

Even then why bring the Image here? 

Iphigenia. 
Defiled, 
She must be purified, be touched again 
By Her own firmament. 

Thoas. 

How dost thou know 
So well the nature of their infamy? 

Iphigenia. 

Seeing Her turn away, I asked them why. 



236 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Thoas. 

Thou art a Greek, quick-witted, a true Greek! 

Iphigenia. 

They too are Greeks. They thought they could 

appease me 
With pleasant news. 

Thoas. 

Of Argos? 

Iphigenia. 

Of my brother, 
News of Orestes. 

Thoas. 

To inveigle thee! 

Iphigenia. 

And of my father — that he lives and prospers. 

Thoas. 

Thou hadst no doubt, however, of thy duty? 

Iphigenia. 

Has not all Hellas well deserved my hate? 

Thoas. 

What must we do with them? 



IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 237 

Iphigenia. 

Observe the law. 

Thoas. 

Thou meanest with the water and the knife? 

Iphigenia. 

First fully cleanse them of their sin. 

Thoas. 

With water 
From a bubbling spring or from the salty sea? 

Iphigenia. 

The sea is the absolvent of all evil. 

Thoas. 

The sea would better please the Goddess then? 

Iphigenia. 

And me. 

Thoas. 

The breakers almost reach these walls. 

Iphigenia. 

But certain of the rites are secret rites. 

Thoas. 

Then choose thy place and fear no trespasser. 



238 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Iphigenia. 

And I must purify the Image too. 

Thoas. 

Have they contaminated even Her? 

Iphigenia. 

So that I had to bring Her from Her place. 

Thoas. 

Thanks for thy reverential care. 

Iphigenia. 
O King, 
Command the help I need. 

Thoas. 

Ask — it is given. 

Iphigenia. 
Then let the strangers be well bound. 

Thoas. 

Why that? 
Where could they think to flee? 

Iphigenia. 

Beware of Greeks! 



IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 239 

Thoas. 

(To his Servants) 

Go, bind them. 

Iphigenia. 

Have them brought to me. 

Thoas. 

And bring them. 

Iphigenia. 

But hang a heavy veil over their heads. 

Thoas. 

For they must not be witnessed by the sun. 

Iphigenia. 

Send soldiers with me. 

Thoas. 

Choose thy guard from these. 

Iphigenia. 

And let a herald warn all citizens. 

Thoas. 
Of what? 

Iphigenia. 

To stay indoors till this is done. 



240 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Thoas. 
Lest they as well might suffer the contagion? 

Iphigenia. 
From matricide. 

Thoas. 

Go tell the herald this. 

Iphigenia. 
And anyone I care for — 

Thoas. 

Meaning — me ? 

Iphigenia. 

Him above all I caution against harm, 
Not to come near. 

Thoas. 

Thou carest what we do. 

Iphigenia. 
Thou seest. 

Thoas. 

And what thou dost means much to us. 

Iphigenia. 
Wait here, O King — thy share is in the Temple. 



Iphigenia in Tauris 241 

Thoas. 
To — 

Iphigenia. 

Purify it with the smoke of torches. 

Thoas. 

It shall be fragrant, priestess, to receive thee. 

Iphigenia. 

When they come by — 

Thoas. 

What must I do? 

Iphigenia. 
Hold up 
Thy robe and look away. 

Thoas. 

From the contagion. 

Iphigenia. 
And if I seem delayed — 

Thoas. 

How shall I tell? 

Iphigenia. 

Be not surprised, but patient. 



242 IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 

Thoas. 

Take thy time 
And serve the Goddess to the uttermost. 

Iphigenia. 

If ii but end as I desire ! — 

Thoas. 
And I! 

Iphigenia. 

Ah, here they come ! — the strangers and the robes, 
And lambs whose blood shall offset other blood, 
And burning torches and all instruments 
Purification needs for them and Her. 

Away, O citizens, be not polluted! 
You keepers of the gates, keep clean your hands! 
Men who would marry, women who would bear, 
Be not polluted ! — look away — away ! 

Virgin Goddess, if these murderers 

Be cleansed as I would have them cleansed ana Thou 
Be brought as well where I would have Thee 

brought, 
Thy Temple shall be clean and we be blest ! 

1 say no more — but Thou and those who know 
May render the conclusion of my prayer. 



I 



Iphigenia in Tauris 243 

{The procession passes out. Thoas enters the 
Temple) 

The Third Maiden. 

Latona bore one day a golden Child, 

O Artemis, Thy Brother, 
Phoebus, the darling of the vales of Delos — 

The First Maiden. 

Whose little fingers hovered on the harp 
And pulled at archery. 

The Third Maiden. 

Leaving His birthplace, to Parnassus' top 
The Mother brought Her Boy — 

The Second Maiden. 

Where Dionysus flings the waterfall. 

The Third Maiden. 

There hidden coiling in the leafy laurels 

A serpent, with bright scales 
And blood-red eyes, a creature born of Earth, 
Guarded the cave that held Earth's oracle. 

Phoebus, beholding it, leaped up 
Out of His Mother's arms, a little Child, 

And struck the serpent dead — 

The Second Maiden. 

And on that day began His prophecies. 



244 Iphigenia in Tauris 

The Fourth Maiden. 

Phoebus Apollo, Thou hast won the throne, 

The tripod of the truth! 
And in the very centre of the earth 
Thou hearest wisdom; and Thy voice conveys, 

Accompanied by all 
The run and ripple of Castalian springs, 

The inmost oracles 
That ever Heaven whispered to the Earth. 

The Third Maiden. 

But Earth had wished the oracles to go 

To Themis, Her own daughter, 
And in Her anger bred a band of dreams 
That in the night should be oracular 

To men, foretelling truth. 
And this impaired the dignity of Phoebus 

And of His oracles — 

The Second Maiden. 

And the baby God went hurrying to Zeus, 
Coaxed with His little hands and begged of Zeus 
To send the dreams away . . . 

The First Maiden. 

And He was very pleased to have His son 
Come straight to Him with troubles. And His 
head 
Decided with a nod 



i 



IPHIGENIA IN TaURIS 245 

That men should turn from the prophetic dark 
And every haunting shape — 

The Fourth Maiden. 

And listen only to the lips of Light. 

A Messenger. 

(Entering breathless) 

O all you ministers and temple-guards, 

Where is King Thoas gone? Open the gates 

And call King Thoas out! O call the King! 

The First Maiden. 

If we may ask unbidden — is something wrong? 

The Messenger. 

The two young men have broken free and fled, 
With Agamemnon's daughter aiding them — 
And on their ship have taken Artemis! 

The First Maiden. 

A likely story ! — Wouldst thou find the King, 
He left the Temple but a moment since. 

The Messenger. 
Where was he bound ? 



246 



Iphigenia in Tauris 



The First Maiden. 

I do not know which way. 

The Second Maiden. 

Go look for him, go find him with thy story! 

The Messenger. 

O treacherous women! You would put me off, 
You are in the plot yourselves! 

The Third Maiden. 
Art thou gone mad? 
What are these men to us? Quick! To the 
Palace ! 

The Messenger. 

Not till I know to my own satisfaction. 
Not till I rouse the keepers of the Shrine 
To answer me! Ho! You inside! Unbar 
The door! The King, if he is there, tell him 
A messenger has come with evil news! 

(He beats at the door) 

Thoas. 

(Appearing at the Temple-Door} 

Who makes this outcry, desecrates the door 
And shakes this holy place? 



Iphigenia in Tauris 247 

The Messenger. 

Their fault ! — their fault ! 
They told me thou wert absent from the Temple, 
They put me off from finding thee. 

Thoas. 

But why? 
Why should they wish — 

The Messenger. 

Let that come afterward. 
O listen first to what I have to tell ! — 
Iphigenia who was priestess here 
Has joined the strangers, fled with them and taken 
Artemis' Image ! — the cleansing was a lie ! 

Thoas. 

Unthinkable ! — What evil influence — 

The Messenger. 

The chance to save Orestes — yes, Orestes! 

Thoas. 

Orestes? — which Orestes? Not her brother? 

The Messenger. 

Yes, whom the Goddess wanted for Her altar. 

Thoas. 

It is impossible, I cannot grasp it! 



248 Iphigenia in Tauris 

The Messenger. 

But do not stop to grasp it ! — listen first, 
Consider what to do ! — and then command 
What means may intercept and capture them! 

Thoas. 

There is no danger in these Taurian Seas 
Of their escaping. For the way is shut — 
Stationed and cordoned with a ring of ships! 

The Messenger. 

No sooner had we reached the bend of shore 

Which hid their ship, than Agamemnon's daughter 

Made signs to us to drop the rope that bound 

The men, to leave them and fall back. It seemed 

That she was ready to perform the rites. 

To light the mystic flame and bless the sea. 

She took the rope herself and followed them 

Still further. And we felt presentiment 

Of something wrong. But what were we to do ? 

We heard her voice chant a high mystery 

Of phrases in an unknown tongue, seeming 

To us the ceremonial incantation, 

The ritual of purifying sin. 

And then we waited a long time. At last 

The fear occurred to us that they had burst 

Their bonds, had killed her and escaped. But still 

We waited, fearing with an equal fear 

To see what was forbidden us to see . . . 



Iphigenia in Tauris 249 

Until with one accord agreeing to it 
We disobeyed and went to find them. 

There 
We saw the ship from Hellas near the shore, 
And fitted in the tholes were fifty oars 
Like feathers in a wing, and just astern 
The two youths boarding her. Some held the prow 
With poles thrust in the water, others brought 
The anchor up. The rest had made of rope 
A ladder hanging from the rail. By this 
We knew their scheme. And we laid hold at once 
Of the Greek maid and seized the trailing ladder 
And pulled their rudder-oar away from them 
To cripple them and cried : " What treachery 
Is this? — to steal our priestess and our God? 
Who art thou and whose son to raid our land 
And bear our priestess off ? " And he replied : 
" I am Orestes, son of Agamemnon, 
I am her brother. Now you know the truth. 
And she is bound for Greece, out of which land 
I lost her long ago — bound home ! " 

We clung 
To her and meant to drag her from her friends 
To thee; which is the way I came by these, 
This bruise — and this. They struck my face both 

sides. 
They had no weapons, we had none. We used 
Our fists and they their fists, even their feet 
With kicks well-aimed at us from where they stood 



250 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Above us — at our heads and sides. We fought 
Till we were breathless. Then, with bruises 
And cuts and blood-filled eyes, we climbed the cliff 
And, from our vantage, pelted them with stones — 
Till the Greek archers had arranged their bows 
And kept us a distance with their arrows. 

Then when a giant wave bore them inshore, 
Orestes quickly lifted up his sister 
Out of the rush of it. Holding her high 
On his left shoulder, plunging stride by stride, 
He caught the ladder, swung aboard the ship 
And held her safe on deck. And she, she held ^ ■= 
She had it still — the Image out of Heaven, 
The Image of the Daughter of high Zeus! 

Then a glad call exulted through the ship: 
" O mariners of Hellas, grip your oars 
And clip the sea to foam! O let your arms 
Be strong, for we have won, have won, have won 
What we set out to win ! We have defied 
The jagged Clashing Rocks — and we have won!" 

A shout of joy responded and the ship 
Quivered with dipping oars and shot ahead. 
But this was only while the shelter lasted; 
For at the harbor-mouth a high wave met her 
And threw her off her course. She turned about. 
Caught by the stormy wind, until her stern 
Was foremost and her prow toward shore. They 

tugged 
The oars, rallied and strained — but every time 



Iphigenia in Tauris 251 

They brought her round, the deep wave dragged her 

back 
Again. And Agamemnon's daughter stood 
And prayed: "O save me, Artemis, from this 
Unhappy place — to Hellas ! — and forgive 
My theft! As Thou, O Goddess, lovest M^ell 
Phoebus, Thy brother, shall I not love mine?" 

The sailors' praises echoing her prayer. 
They bent their bodies and their great bare arms 
And shoulders, swaying like the sea, 
To the boatswain's cry. But closer to the cliff. 
Closer and closer still they drew. And some 
Sprang out into the sea. And some began 
Attempts to fasten hold on the sharp shore 
With ropes. And then our men despatched me 

here, 
O King, to tell thee of this thing. ... So come 
With chains and cords — for while the sea is high. 
There is no earthly chance of their escape! 

Poseidon, God of the Sea, remembering Troy, 

The city that He loved, confounds today 

The wretched children of her enemies 

And will deliver up to thee and thine 

The son and daughter of the King of Argos — 

That daughter who, forgetful now of Aulis, 

Betrays the Goddess who was kind to her. 

{The Messenger goes out) 



252 Iphigenia in Tauris 

The First Maiden. 

O Lady, Lady ! — O alas for thee ! 

In Taurian hands again, 
Thou and thy brother surely now shall die! 

Thoas. 

Come, citizens, and be uncivilized! 
Leap on your horses! Whip them to the beach! 
Wait with me there until a wave shall break 
That ship from Hellas. Then — be after them! 
And hunt them down, each damned dog of 

them! 
Do this for Artemis. And some of you 
Go launch my galleys, lest one man of them 
Should die untortured! Run them down by sea 
And land! Go hurl them from the cliffs! 
O catch them, kill them, crucify them, end them! 

And as for you, you miserable women, 
Count on the punishment you have deserved 
By treachery ! I have not time for you — 
With this to do. But O when this is done! 

{In the confusion appearSj with instant dominion, 
Pallas Athena) 

Athena. 

Be calm. King Thoas! What is this pursuit? 
Hold back and listen to Athena's word. 



I 



Iphigenia in Tauris 253 

Hold back the soldiers, hold them every one. 

Apollo sent Orestes to this land 

To free him from the Fiends of punishment 

And told him, through the oracle, to bring 

Iphigenia home again to Argos 

And likewise to my land the holy Image. . . . 

That is my word. And let me follow it 

With news that this Orestes thou wouldst hunt 

Is gliding on a comfortable sea 

Made easy by Poseidon for my sake. 

Orestes! — thou canst hear a God far-off — 

Obey me! Take thy sister and the Image 

Safely to Hellas. Go to God-built Athens 

And, passing through, go forward to the end 

Of Attica. Find there a holy place 

Close to Carystus' hill, a place called Halae. 

There build a Temple. There set up the Image. 

Name it for Tauris, to immortalize 

Thy penitence and thy deliverance, 

Thy labors and thy love. Let men acclaim 

The Taurian Artemis, brought there by thee. 

And let this be the law: When they observe 
Her festival ... in token of thy fate 
The priest must hold against a human throat 
The sharp blade of his knife and touch the edge 
With blood, then cease — meaning that life, not 

death. 
Is the true element of sacrifice. 



254 Iphigenia in Tauris 

Iphigenia ! — there are steps for thee 

Hewn to the rocky Shrine of Artemis 

At Brauron. There the keys be in thy keeping. 

There shalt thou die, be buried and receive 

Upon thy grave most honorable gifts, 

The purely-woven raiment of dead mothers 

Who honorably died in giving birth. 

O Thoas, I command thee, send to Hellas 
These women. They were true. — 

I saved thee once, 
Orestes, when on Ares' hill I judged thee 
And voted for thee when the votes were equal. 
Now let it be the law that he who earns 
An equally-divided verdict wins 
His case. Therefore go safely from this land, 

son of Agamemnon. And thou, Thoas, 
Be thou content to put thy wrath away. 

Thoas. 

He who is discontented when the Gods 
Have given judgment — is a fool. For my part, 
Goddess, I bear no grudge against Orestes 
Nor against her who took away the Image. 

1 make no opposition to a God, 

For where would be the use? So let them go 
In peace and set the Image in Thy land. 
These women too may go — they shall be sent 
To Hellas to be happy. At Thy word, 



Iphigenia in Tauris 255 

I bid my ships turn back from the pursuit . . . 
Behold my spirit and my spear bowed down. 

Athena. 

Well-spoken! For thy spirit learns a law 
Greater than thou and greater than the Gods. 

O winds of heaven, blow Orestes home — 
And I will guide him on his way to Athens, 
Guarding Thy Image, Artemis, my Sister. 

The First Maiden. 

Fare well in your good-fortune! May it bring 
Joy to you always. 

The Fourth Maiden. 

Pallas Athena, blessed is Thy name 

In Heaven as on the earth. 
Let us be mindful that Thy words are wise 
And welcome and unlooked-for and complete 

And let us do Thy will, 
O Conqueror of hatred and of fear! . . . 

The more in Thee we lose 
Our lives, the more we find our life in Thee. 



THE END 



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